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The Dramatic Publishing Company, Chicago. 

THE MERRY COBBLER. 

Comedy Drama in Four Acts 

BY 
JOHN A. FRASER, Jr. 

Six male, five female characters. Tw ) interior, two exterior scenes. Mod«^ 
ern costumes. Time of play, one hour and forty-five minutes. This refined, * ' 
yet laughter-making comedy, in which John R. Cumpson starred successfully 
for several seasons, has been carefully revised by the author for the amateur 
stage. This romantic story of a German imigrant boy in New Orleans, who 
falls in love with, and finally marries, a dashing Southern belle, is one of the 
cleanest and daintiest in the whole repertoire of the minor stage. In addition 
to the Merry Cobbler himself, who is one of the type the late J. K, Emmot so 
loved to portray, there are five other male characters, five female parts and 
very short parts for two little girls. Had the piece been originally written 
for the use of amateurs, it could not have been happier in its results, its natural 
and mirth-provoking comedy combined with a strong undercurrent of heart- 
interest, rendering it a vehicle with which even inexperienced actors are sure 
to be seen at their best. The scenic effects are of the simplest description and 
the climaxes, while possessing the requisite amount of "thrill" are very easy 
to handle. This piece has been seen in all the larger cities of the Union dur- 
ing the past foar seasons, and is now placed within the reach of amateurs for 
the first time. J. A. Fraser, Jr., author of " The Merry Cobbler," and a score 
of other successful plays, has prepared elaborate instructions for its production 
by amateur players. Price, 25 cents. 



A DELICATE QUESTION, 

Comedy Drama in Four Acts 

BY 
JOHN A. FRASER, Jr. 

Nine male, three female characters. One exterior, two interior scenes. 
Modern costumes. Plays two hours. If a play presenting an accurate picture 
of life in the rural districts is required, in which every character has been faith- 
fally studied from life, nothing better for the use of amateurs than "A Delicate 
Question " can be recommended. The story is utterly unlike that of any other 
play and deals with the saloon, which it handles without gloves and at the 
same time without a single line of sermonizing. What "Ten Nights in a Bar- 
room'' was to the public of a past generation, "A Delicate Question" is des- 
tined to be to the present, although it is far from being exactly what is known 
as a "temperance play," The plot is intensely interesting, the pathetic scenes 
full of beauty, because they are mental photographs from nature, and the com- 
edy is simply uproariously funny. The parts, very equally balanced. The 
scenic effects are quite simple, and by a little ingenuity the entire piece may 
be played in a kitchen scene. The climaxes are all as novel as they are effec- 
tive and the dialogue is as natural as if the characters were all real people. 
The author, J. A. Fraser. Jr., considers this one of his greatest successes. 
Price, 25 c( nts. 



AUTHOR S EDITION 



A MODERN ANANIAS 



A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS, 



y^v 



J: A. ERASER, Jr 




Of 



Author of A Noble Outcast- Edelweiss McGiaty's Troubl 
Little Miss Mab— Esther's Guardeeu- Inez— The Judge's 
Wife— 'Twixt Love and Money— The Merry Cob- 
bler — Drafted — On Secret Service — 
A Delicate Question— Etc. 



CHICAGO: 
THE DRAMATIC PUBLlSHlXCi COMPANY. 



\ 



r- , (r, , TSno4 

Cast of Lharactcrs. ,- .' ' 



Lj.^auder Lyou, M. 1>. — With a vivid imagination. 

Col. Lyon -With a forgiving disposition. Lysander's uncle. 

Derby Dashwood— With a Piccadilly accent: Lysander's class- 
mate. 

Francisco -With an elastic conscience; Lysander's valet. 

Baby— With the soubriquet of "Little Tootsywootsy"; Lysander's 
step-daughter. 

N«llie Ooldengrate -With a tickle fancy; the Colonel's ward. 

Prndeuce Mayflower -With New England notions; Nellie's friend. 

Kittle— With so much a month and board; Baby's maid. 
Scene:— iYei/)porf at the present time. 
Act. I. AFTERxooN— Lysander lies. 
Act. II. EVENING OP THE SAME DAY— J/e contiiiues to lie. 
Act. III. THE NEXT DAY— The eonseqaences. 



Reucard. 

1 hereby otfer a reward of 825.00 for the conviction of any 
Mctor pirating this piece and of !:?50.00 for the conviction of any 
manager permitting such piracy upon his stage. 

J. a.'fraser, jr., 

DRAMATIC PUBLISHING CO., 

CnicACio. 

Copyright isys by Drumiitic Publishing Co. and J. A. Fraser, Jr. 



z/l Hi bar's Edition— Notice. 

Amateurs are permitted to play this piece without royalty or 
permission. The professional stage right is reserved by the 
author and professionals are forbidden to perform it without 
his written consent. Managers of hales and theaters are 
WARNED that they are responsible for any piracy of this dramatic 
composition committed U[>on their stages. [See United States 
Circuit Court findings in Fraser vs. H. R. Jacobs et al.j All ir- 
fringementa will be prosecuted under the amended copyright 
LAW OF 189.3 under which a fine of not less than 8100 for the first 
performance and not less that .^50 for each subsequent perfor- 
mance is imposed and offenders who fail to pay upon order of 
the court inav l>e imprisoned. 



/^-3Z3tJ 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 



d^uthors Notes. 

To Amateurs in search of a comedy which is absolutely certain 
to provoke roars of laughter from beginning to end, A Modern 
Ananias is recommended with the utmost confidence. The sit- 
uations into which the various characters are dragged through 
the mendacity of the hero are so intensely absurd in themselves 
and Lysander shows such wit and ingenuity in extricating him- 
self and them until he is finally involved in a hopeless mass of 
tergiversation, that the piece positively plays itself. The only 
things absolutely essential are that the lines be carefully memor 
ized, the stage directions minutely followed and that each actor 
play his or her part with full sincerity. To the audience, all the 
characters -no matter hov,- funny the things they are doing or 
the lines they are speaking, must be in serious earnest with each 
other. The moment any consciousness of the ridiculous is shown, 
that moment the fun is lost. The personality of the actor must 
never overpower the personation of the character. This is the 
whole secret of successful farce playing. 

It is rarely the case, even in farcical comedy, that so many 
distinctly drawn "fat" comedy parts are to be found. Lysander 
is the hero, it is true, but he has no advantage over the uncle, so 
far as part is concerned. Derby Dash wood comes in a hot second 
and as for Francisco, a clever player can get a laugh on every line 
he speaks. Baby, who may be with advantage played by a man, 
owing to the short-sighted objection of most young actresses to 
sacrificing personal charms to artistic success, is intensely funny. 
Nellie is a charming ingenue lead who gains the entire sympathy 
of the audience while Prudence and Kitty both show to good 
advantage the personal beauty and talent of the actresses v/ho 
essay them: but Baby is the great part— almost the star. 

The story is briefly this: Lysander Lyon w^as in his infancy 
deserted by his mother and taken care of by a bachelor uncle who 
grew immensely rich in Califr-rnia. Lysander is made his uncle's 



4 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

heir and goes to Europe to study. To inculcate economical 
habits he is restricted to a small allowance and meeting a rich 
widow, whose hold on life is slender, he marries her unknown to 
his uncle. After his marriage he finds himself step-father to a 
fleshy old maid to whom, on her mother's death, the expected 
fortune reverts. Meantime, the uncle has become guardian of 
Nellie Goldengate and decides that his two wards should marry. 
Unknown to Lysander he crosses the continent at a time when 
that young gentleman is paying a surreptitious visit to America. 
Lysander meets Nellie and scrapes acquaintance with her but, 
owing to Francisco's blunder, thinks her name is Prudence — the 
name of her friend. In order to avoid a marriage with Nellie, whom 
he thinks he has never seen, he invents a story to the effect that 
he is already married and then the complications ensue. Finally 
he is forced to confess all his deceptions except one— the truth 
about Baby. Nellie forgives him and so does the uncle for hie 
ftbs and also his first marriage but both imagine Baby to be a 
little child. Then the truth comes to the surface, when, by an 
almost superhuman effort of nerve, he marries his step-daughter 
to his uncle and himself weds Nellie. 

While the main plot of A Modern Ananias is original with 
me, for many incidents I freely acknowledge my indebtedness — 
going back to the earliest record we have— to Lope de Vega. 
His comedy, "The Mistaken Beauty", (1661), was translated and 
adapted for the French stage by Corneille about thirty years 
later; turned into English from both sources by Dick Steele, 1703, 
adapted and modernized by Samuel Foote, 1762; and, more than a 
century later, again somewhat rewritten by Charles Mathews. 
A comedy that has been constantly on the stage for nearly 250 
years must have strong elements of popularity; and readapted as 
whatever I have used of it is in A Modern Ananias, with the 
confessed weakness of the old comedy— lack of plot and compli- 
cations, remedied, I modestly hope that my effort to render this 
fine old piece valuable to the present generation will not be with- 
out its reward. It is an interesting fact that Foote's adaptation 
of the comedy was running on the Coveut Garden stage, London, 
during both our wars with England— 177G, 1812. Interwoven 
with this piece is another, a farce by Charles Mathews, in which 
Edwin Booth appeared with great success in 1857. It is a curious 
fact that during his tour of America, Mr. Mathews played these 
two pieces for an evening's bill, and yet, apparently, never saw 
how each could be blended with the other. The plot of the story, 
as I tell it, is wholly original with me, as is most of the dialogue, 
while most of the old situations-have been given a new lease of 
life by holding them up to the mirror of to-day. 



,\ MODERN ANANIAS. 



Costumes. 



Lysauder.— First act, outing costume in the extreme of 
faBhion. He should be made up dark and look about 21 years 
old. Second costume, full evening dress. Third act, cutaway 
black coat and vest, light i)ants, ijatent leather shoes. He is a 
dandy all through and must be played in sober earnest. Col. 
Lyon, is a big, red faced old man of sixty in exuberant health. 
White wig and siile whiskers, grey suit and plug hat in first act; 
full evening dress in second act: Prince Albert and light pants, 
black silk hat and patent leather shoes in last act. "Derby 
Dashwood, little curly -headed blonde with very dainty outing 
suit in first act; evenm'g drafts in second act and very dude tweed 
suit and straw hat in last act. Francisco, acts one and two, dark 
tweed suit, stiff felt hat; act three, livery. He must be made up 
very swartliy with coal black curly wig and coal black mustache. 
Baby, must look forty years old, be padded to look like 200 
pounds and be gaudily dressed in styles suitable for a school-girl; 
ankle length skirts. Act one; burlesqued outing dress; act two, 
house dress with hair hanging down her back; act three the same. 
Xellie and Prudence, irx act one, pretty outing dresses in the height 
of fashion. Nellie should be blonde and Prudence brunette. Act 
two, evening dress. For disguise Xellie should wear hat, thick 
veil and long, dark cape or mantle. Act three, summer morning 
dress, straw hata for both. Kitty, plam black dress, v.!iite apron, 
bonne's Normandy cap, white collar and cuifs. 



Troperty Tlot. 

Act 1. Garden bench— eyeglass, newspaper and letter in en- 
velope for Derby -address book and pencil for Lysander— letter 
in envelope for Francisco— Eyeglasses for Baby. 

Act 11. Largo three-leaf screen— easel with picture— small 
fancy stand— carpet— fancy table with telegraph blanks and pen,ink 
and paper on it— sofa— four fancy chairs— Pack of cards cribbage 
hoard- -spectacles for Col. Lyon — thirteen cigars butts wrapped in 
paper for Baby. 

Act TIL Table witli newspaper on it— live chairs— sofa- 
carpet- sideboard with decanter containing cold tea, glasses and 
pitcher of Vvater on it -revolver —broom, dustpan, fourteen cigar 
butts for Kitty— cigars for Derby and Col. Lyon -three flowers in 
[)ots for Francisco --Artificial cut flowers for Baby—child's lace 
hood for Nellie— jumping jack for Col Lyon. 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 

SCEME PLOTS. 



SEA HOP.IXON OR frAROrN. 



o 

StT 

THEE 



~' tm 

housi. 



STtPS 



,8 



ENcR'^'v^ 



ACT I. 



EJ<.TE.RlOR BACKING. 

'arch ^ 1- 

Q CHAIR 



CARP£T DOWN. 
ffUGS. ETC. 



chaikQ 



ACT II. 



5£A HORISON OR ,<^NY ETtTERlOR, 
SALOSTRAPt- ^ 



A B C M 



CMAIR 



"-i OcHAIR 
• OOOR 



HAIR BOARO.^^ 



CHAIR BOARD. 



<^o 



CARPET 

DOWM 



.□[. 



V 



tabU 



ACT III. 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 

ACT I.' 

|s(;knb: Newport. Sea horizon or ijaVden drop at fourth 
(froovos. Set tree c. at back. Set tree i.. c. at second grooves. 
Garden, bench doimi i.. Set house with steps r.2 k. Wood wings 
and foliage borders. Set house represents a hotel. At rise of 
curtain Derby enters R. u. e. with Nellie on his r. arm and 
Prudence on his t.. They speak as they enter and come doivn to 
bench t..] 

"Nell. How dreadfully slow it is at Newport this summer. 

Deri). Yes, awfully! On account of the hard times, don't you 
know. Oh, I say -some new people have moved into the lower 
flat of our villa. 

Priid. I do hope there are men -dmon^^ them and dancmg men 

at that. , , , 1 • * 11 

Derb. Oh, yes —two men -quite knowablo looking fellows, 

they tell me. 

Nell. Thank heaven for small mercies! We girls are prepared 
to tolerate almost anything that wears [Sitting on bench.] 

Prud. [l. c] Ahem! Nellie! 

Nell. Bifurcated garments. But wh(j and what are tlieyr 

Derb. Don't know, really, [l. c] . 

Nell. Ascertain their names, position, and the state ot their 
bank accounts within fifteen minutes or prepare to suffer - -Eh, 

Prudie? , , ^, 

Prud. I should say so-~and particularly whether they are 
married or single. We'll wait for you here. [Sits on bench i.,] 

Derb. But by Jove! you know a fellow can't find out all that 
in fifteen minutes. 

Nell. No excuses— if you're not back in a quarter of an liour— 
[Gallops off L. J. E.] 

Derb. The flag has dropped. They're olt, with Dashwood in 
the lead. [Galloping off i.. i. e. J 

Nell. He's a good little soul, but quite impossible. [Laugli- 

ing.'\ 

Prud. Why, T was prepared to see you 



8 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Nell. Marry him? Ha, ha, ha! [jtiises and goes c.J A two 
thousand dollar ninth assistant something or other at Washing- 
ton? 

Prud. How can you trifle so with a man's affections, Nellie".-' 
I'd feel positively guilty. 

Nell. You're altogether too innocent for this wicked worltl, 
my dear. Besides he's used to it. [Looks of k. i. k.\ Oh- what 
a handsome fellow! 

Priid. [Rises and goes c. looking off.\ Two of them what .■. 
shame we don't know them! 

Nell. [k. c] Give them a chance and they'll introduce tliem^ 
selves. [Flutters handkerchief 1] 

Prml. For heaven's sake Nellie! what will they ikink of us? 

Nell. What will tee think of them?— that's the point. I'll 
spread a net. [Drops handkerchief. Goes j.. and sits on bench. \ 

Pnid. Then you'll have to excuse 7ne. [Retiring up behind 
tree t..] 

[Enter Ly-sander and Francisco u. i. e.J 

Lys. [Crosaing i-.j Pardon me Miss—Permit me Itj restore 
your handkerchief. 

Nellt Oh, thank you .so much! How stupid of uie to have 
dropped it. 

Lys. [i-. c, Fraus. k. c] A most happy accident for nu\ 
Chance has given me an honor in one lucky minute that juy 
utmost diligence has been unable to procure in the whole rouud 
of a revolving year. 

Nell. You must be mistaken, sir. 

Lys. Ah, if I only were! Surely you must have remarked 
my respectful assiduity — every play, ox:)era, ball or banquet wiiere 
I thought there was the slightest chance of seeing you I have 
haunted like jour own shadow. I have even loitered about youi- 
door and followed you to Newport in despair. [Sits beside Iter 
Frnd, peeps from behind tree.] 

Fran. [Aside.] Heavens what gall. 

Lys. Ever since my return from South America I have daily 
risked arrest by following you witli my mute l)Ut respect: 'ii 
homage. 

Fran, [^iside.] Oh, what a liar! 

.Xell. [Aside. \ Strange that I never noticed him. He really 
is a most fascinating man. [Aloud.] Then you have visited 
South America? 

Lys. I know every foot of it. During Die late attenipt to 
restore monarchical rule in Brazil T shed my l^lood in defonim' of 
the sister P-epublic. 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 9 

Nell. You were wounded? 

Lys. Shot all to pieces [Hises.] There wasn't a battle of any 
consequence but I had an opportunity to distinguish myself. 
The final rout of the insurgents and the seizure of their vessels 
was considered a master-stroke of genius. The President wrote 
me a personal letter of thanks. 

Nell. I have heard the honor of that undertaking ascribed to 
some native general. 

Lys, Doubtless, but you can't believe tiie newspapers. His- 
tory, if a Portugese can write history as distinguished from 
romav/ce, will do mo justice. But I don't expect it. No Portu 
gese can tell the truth. 

Fran. [Aside.] What an excellent Portugese he'd make! 
Lys. But pardon me allow me to present my friend, Don 
Francisco Martinez, a Brazilian by birth, an insurgent by pro 
fessionandan American citizen by naturalization. [Nell, rises 
Fran, crosses r.. and ihey both boir deeply. She makes room on 
the bench and Fran, sits beside her.] 

Nell. [Aside.] Don Francisco! He must be noble. How 
lovely ! 

Lys. [c] The Don and I have been sworn friends since I had 
the honor of saving his precious life. He was among the prison- 
ers taken by our army after I had fustrated an attempt of the 
enemy to enter Rio. He was tried by court martial and speedily 
sentenced to be shot at noon. Too proud of the blood of his 
noble race to sue for mercy he stood there calmly, folded his arms 
and said, ''Bring forth yourgattling guns, order up your artillery 
I will show you how an American citizen can die." On hearing 
these noble words I mounted my horse and galloped madly to 
our minister's official residence—.— 

Nell. [Rises excitedly, J., c] And saved him? How thrilling! 
Lys. [c] Alas! Our minister had gone a-fishing. The case 
was* desperate. In five minutes the sun-parched soil of Brazil 
w(nild be greedily drinking uj) the life-blood of a fearless and 
])atriotic American citizen — by naturalization. Snatching the 
glorious emblem of our nation from where it proudly floated 
above the door, I remounted my horse, dashed wildly to the plaza 
where the firing party stood drawn up and poor Don Francisco 
was gazing with a sickly palor upon his face into the deadly 
muzzles of thirteen repeating rifles. Spurring my horse I broke 
a passage through a troop of cavalry and forced a battalion of 
infantry aside. Riding like a lunatic between the firing party 
and their devoted victim, I flung the Star Spangled Banner to 
tiio V)rfieze and enveloped him in its folds. "Fire on that flag if 



10 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

you dare!" 1 shouted, "If you do you lire on seventy millions of 

people who will swarm down here within twenty-four hours and 

whip you out of your boots." 
Nell. How noble! How daring! [Goen <j. to him.] 
Lys. Wasn't it? Recoginizing that I had cleverly avoided war 

with the United States by my prompt action, the President was 

lavish in his praise and made me a general. 

Nell. A general! [GiveM her hand. He conducts her acro.s.s 

K.] 

Ly.s. [Ci^ossiuy.] But ah, Miss— the battle scarred warrior is 
vanquished at last and happier in his defeat than in triumphing 
over a battlefield red with carnage. If you but smile upon me — 

Nell. [r. c] Why-General 

Lys. Now don't spring that old gag — "This is so sudden"— 
they all say that 

Nell. But, General 

Lys. At least indulge me with your address, both here and at 
home. [Takes out hook.] 

Nell. What give my address to a gentleman who for a whole 
year has stood sentinel at my doorstep? Ha, ha. ha! [Prnd. 
crosses r. to steps.] 

Lys. My dear young lady — you misunderstand — let me ex- 
plain — — 

Nell. Ha, ha, ha! Not another word. Your nerve is exquisite 

Good morning, general — general disaster, ha, ha, ha! [E.r. into 
liotel u'ith Priid.l 

Lys, General disaster? The deuce! I should say it was. 
[Goes c] 

Fran. [Joining him c] That was a bad break, sir. 

Lys. I'll mend it. She's a stunner and I've mashed her. 

Frail. I wish you had mashed the other one for me! But see 
Jiere, sir -my conscience is elastic enough, heaven knows, yel 
that life saving yarn was almost too much. Why did you tell it? 

Lys. Because I've got to mterest a rich woman. She looked 
rich and I interested her. 

Fran. But your uncle has picked out a wife for you. 

Lys. Nellie Goldengate— his ward and I've never seen her. 
[Crosses l. and sits.] 

Fran. [l. c] You're not taking any more chances than she is. 

Lys, Besides, if he should lind out about my little speculation 
of six months ago I'd be done for so far as he is concerned. 

Fran. Wliat— did you invest in a mine? 

Dys. No— a widow of Kixty with one foot in the grave and two 
hundred and tifty thousand in the bank 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 11 

Fran. What— feet? 

Lys. No, dollars. After my luarria^'e T found tliat 1 alHo had 
a step-daughter. 

Fran. And such a step-daughter! 

Lys. After two phort montlis of wedded bliss, which seemed 
like twenty years, she got the other foot into the grave. But the 
season of my joy— -I mean my grief, was short. My step-daughter 
inherited the $250,000. It was a cruel, cruel blow. I've had to put 
up with my dear child's whims from that day to this— or go 
round without enough money to buy cigars. 

Fran. But to return to my conscience, sir; I've noticed that 
you are rather given to stretching things. 

Lys. Vou insinuate that I'm a liar. 

Fran. Well, you do embellish, a bit. Now, for instance — I 
never was in Brazil in all my life. 

Lys. No more was I. 

Fran. But this lady will give it out that you are ;i genenil in 
the Brazilian army. 

Lys. And make me so much the more interesting to every 
heiress in Newport. 

Fran. But you may be found out. 

Lys. Brazil is a long way otf. Who is there to contradict me? 

Fran. Your step-daughter. 

Lys. Oh, darn my step-daugliter! [Ei.se.s and goes (j.j I'll 
manage he7\ You go and tind out that young lady's name and 
all about her. 

Fran. I won't be a minute, sir. [bJ.r. into hotel ii. "J k.J 
[Enter Kitty iv. i. k.] 

Lys. Ah, Kitty — where is my little girlr 

Kitty, [l.] She isn't up yet. 

Lys. [c] Is she asleep? 

Kitty. I don't think she ever sleeps. Tliis morning she's in 
one of her tempers, calling me everything she can lay her tongue 
to. 

Lys. Oh, you mustn't mind her. 

Kitty. [Going c. to him] But I do mind her and I've come 
to give in my notice. I can't stand her any longer. She's old 
enough to know better, so she is. [Indignantlt/ goes a little l.] 

Lys. She is old enough, but remember ]ier temper is consid- 
ered in your wages. 

Kitty. [Turning conjidentially l. <• ] I leave it to you, sir. Is 
it my fault that she can't make her corset meet? Does that give 
her any call to fire the soap dish at my head and fetch me a 
soaker with a wet sponge? 



12 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Lys. Baby is growing a trifle stout, but you agreed to put up 
with that for so much a month and your board. 

Kitty. Oh, Lord, sir! Here she comes. [Starts to ruiiR. u. e.] 

Lys. [Detains her.] Don't run away — stand your ground. 
[Looks off J.. I. E.] Sweet little thing. [Retires up behind tree v.] 
[Enter Baby l. i. e.] 

Baby. [Down i^.] Oh you stupid, clumsy, ignorant thing! 
I've been searching everywhere for you. Who was that man? 
You scandalous huzzy! Oh, how I hate you! [Stamps angrily.} 

Lys. Baby, I"m ashamed of you. [Reappearing.] 

Baby. [Putting on eyeglasses.] Oh, papa! Is it really your 
Good morning, dear papa. [Hippity-hops up to him.] 

Lys. [Aside.] Papa — papa. Nice isn't it? But I've got to 
stand it! 

Baby. Kiss your baby good morning, papa. Wluit -are you 
angry with poor little me? Have I been naughty? [Drawing him 
down c] 

Lys. Naughty? Oh no darling— no pet. Come and kiss its 
daddy. [Kiss. Aside.] How absurd! 

Baby. [u. c. down stage.] I was so fifraid I was in disgrace, 
papa -and I was going — I was going to ask a favor. 

Lys. [c] What favor, dear? [Kitty drops doicn l.J 

Baby. [Timidly.] If— if I may go out. 

Lys. Of course you may, my child. Go out as much as you 
like. [A.'iide.] Go out and get lost in the crowd. 

Baby. But I'm so afraid of the mashers, papa. [Clinging to 
him timidly.] 

Lys. They'd never think of molesting my little Tootsywootsy. 
[Goes a little l.) 

Baby, [c] But don't you want to know where I aui going, 
papa? 

Lys. Oh, go to the [She .starts away n.] Hold on I've 

changed my mind. I won't have you gadding about. Miss, 
[Aside.] What nonsense! A woman of her age playing the 
child. That's one of her whims! 

Baby. Oh jjapa! I only want to go to the florist's to buy 
some fresh roses for my vases. 

Lys. [l. c. Aside.] Fresh roses for her i-a^'-ses! [Aloud.] 
Well, that's ditt'erent. [Looks at watch.] Let me see— you may 
be gone just Ave hours. But don't stop a single minute over 
your time or papa w ill be very angry. 

Baby. Won't you go with me, papa? 

Lys. Impossible, pet. I have business of the utmost impor- 
tance. 



A MODERN ANANIAS. l;3 

Baby. What businesB. papa? 

Lys. [Pause] I've j,'ot to get shaved. 

Baby. [Goefi k. Sobbing.] Oh — I see — that's only an excuse. 
I'm a drag on you— a tie — a burden. 

Lys. [Foflovnng her.] Now, now Tootsywootsy— Idon't mean 
that. 

Baby, [r.] Yes you do — you know you do. Well, tliere is one 
very simple way of getting rid of me. 

Ly.S. [Fv.] There is? Spring it (juick. 

Baby. Marry me off. 

Lys. Yes -yes love. Oh, that's dead easy. Tliere's plenty of 
time — I'll see about it. [Returning c. ] 

Baby. Selfish, selfish papa! Yon want to keep your little girl 
all to yourself. 

Lys. [Aside.[ Oh, I do— I do— not. [Aloud.] Go dear— 
Kittv will take care of you— there's no danger. [Kitty crosaea up 

Baby. No danger in Newport? Then wliat did I come here 
for? No danger! [Goe.s up a little.] 

Lys. [c] Not in broad daylight, my precious. Ncnv at night, 
if the electric lights went out, perhaps 

Baby. But the rude men positively stare a girl out of roun- 
tenance 

Lys. [Aside.] I'd pay a l)onus if they would only stare her out 
other countenance. [Aloud.] Now run along, your Kitiywitty 
18 waiting for you, pet. 

Baby. I always d(j as you tell me, don't I papa? 

Ly.s. You do. [Aside.] When you feel like it. 

Baby. [To Kitty.] Now then, you lazy thing— I wish I had 
my carriage here, papa. 

Kitty. [Aside going.] Pretty dear! They ought to buy her 
a bicycle. [Ex. k. 3 e.] 

Baby. Well, good-by, papa dear, and thank you. [Coming 
down to him.] 

Lys. [Impatiently.] Oh -good-by 

Baby. [n. c] Don't you want to kiss your Baby? That check 
you asked. for [SJiov^.s a clicck.] 

Lys. [c] My child! [Kisses her.] Child indeed! 

Baby. [Gives check.] Ta, ta, papa dear. [Goes r. 3 k.] 

Lys. [Disgusted.] Oh tata, tata. [Ex. Baby ii. 3 k.) (\o to 
the devil! 

[Enter Derby i.. i. k.. tears newspaper anyrily.] 

Lys. Hello! what thedeuceis up with this fellow? Why, it's 
Dashwood, my old class-mate at Yale. [Oro.^-.s'p.v i,. slaps \}eY\i^ on 



U A MODERN ANANIAS. 

sJiOulder. Fran, enters from hotel.] 

Berl). Don't do that! [Pids up eyeglass.] What the devil 
d(^ you mean by it? 

Lys. Why Derby, old boy, don't you reuiemljer me? Lysander 
Lyon. 

Derb. Oh, to be sure, dear fellow. How de do, [Shake hands 
hhjh up in the air.] 

Ly s. Wh at h as ruffled y ou ? 

Derb. A report in this confounded f)aper about some myster- 
ious stranger with a weakness for a certain young lady, don't you 
know. [Sits i>.] 

Lys. [l. c.[ Who is the lady":" 

Derb. They've reversed her initials to G. X. from N. G.. but I 
recognize her. 

Lys. Oh — she's N. G. [Winks at audience.] 

Derb. Last night, don't you know, he gave a water party. 

Lys. Swell party? 

Derb. Awfully select, really. The young lady and a friend 
and himself and a friend. 

Lys. Good timer 

Derb. Steam yacht decorated with flowers, string band, high 
priced quartet and supper at |100 a plate— Oh awfully— cost him 
a small fortune! 

Lys. And you don't know who the man is? 

Derb. Can't even guess. That's what makes me feel so dev- 
ilish. 

Lys. Ha, ha, ha! Well — I might as well plead guilty. 

Derb. What, j/ow^ [Rising incredulously.] 

Lys. Yes -I. Why not? 

Fran. [r. Aside.] He's at it again 

Derb- Then you're the new man at Arlington villa! 

Lys. Exactly. But don't breathe a word about my identity. 
I like mystery. 

Derb. I can keep a secret. [Aside.] My rival, by Jove! He 
doesn't suspect that I'm his upstairs. I'll watch him.. [Crossing 
to R. c] 

Lys. [Reading paper.] Ha, ha! How the deuce do these 
newspaper fellows manage to get hold of things? 

Derb, The fellows who do them usually write out a full ac- 
count and send it to the editor by special messenger. But you're 
I lucky fellow— only a few days back from dear old England and 
favored by the biggest heiress of the season, by Jove! 

Ly8. Why, man. I've been back six weeks but my presence is 
a secret. Uncle Dick would be furious if he found it out. You 
know him? 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 15 

Derb. Oh, yes -I've met the Colonel. He told me Bomething 
of your queer history, don't YOU know. 

Lys. Odd, isn't it? You see, he was already m Calitornia 
wlven my fatiier married and was subsequently divorced on per- 
jured testimony. Then my mother married before her decree got 
rold In a tit of depression my father bleu his brains out and 
Uncle Dick adopted me on the condition that I should never rec- 
t)gnize my mother. He hates her although he never saw her. 

Derb. Quite a romance, by Jove! 

Lys. Ab for the old gentleman, he^s safe in Frisco and fondly 
imagines that I'm at Guy's Hospital, London. [,S'ifs l.] 

Derb. [c. Aside.] He doesn't know the old boy is here! 1 
sson't do a thing to him -oh no\ By Jove! [Aloud.] Well, old 
fellow, I'll have to move along, don't you know. 

Ly.s. What's your hurry? 

Derb. I have an appointment, really. [Going R.J 

Lys. Don't tear yourself away -sit down and let me tell you 
about my trip abroad. . 

Derb. Another time, old man I really must go--ta, ta— jolly 
girl, N. G., lucky fellow -bye, bye. [Ex. into hotel] 
" Fran. May I ask a question, sir? [Crossing T..J 

Lys. Sure thing. 

Fran. [l. c] Where do you smoke? 

Lys. Smoke? Any place, if there are no ladies present. 

Fran. But I mean where do you go to hit the pipe? 

Lys. Oh, go to the devil. [Rises and takes c] 

Fran. I didn't think you were so stuck on it as that; but you 
do have the gaudiest lot of pipe dreams I ever heard of. 

Lys. [Turning angrily.] You quit my service to-mght. 

Fran. [i.. o. coolly.] Not on your life. I like the place. 

Lys. I've a good mind to knock you down. 

Fran. I can do my own knocking down. I was once a bar- 
tender. See here, sir, if you don't lie yourself into some infernal 
scrape I'll be content to be hanged. 

Lys. If I do and don't lie myself out again I'll be content to 
shot. You mind your own business. Did you find out about tba^ 

charming girl? ^ t^ ^ ^ u 

Fran. I did. She is Prudence Mayflower of Boston and ner 
father has made a million in chewing gum. 

Lys. [c] What a lot of gum he must have chewed. Is she 
single? 

Fran. Engaged. 

Lys. Then I'll marry her. 

Fran. If she's engaged? 



)0 



16 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Lys. Sure thing. I make it a practice never to marry a girl 
who /s»'^ engaged. [Voices heard in hotel] Hark! I know that 
voice. By all i hat's unlucky it's Uncle Dick. [Looking in door. 
Crosses l..] 

Fran. Duck, sir, duck — behind the trees, quick! 

Lys. Too late — he sees me. I was a fool not to vanish the 
moment I heard him. [Col. and Derby appear at door.] 

Fran. Your friend is with him. What are you going to do? 

Lys. Stand my ground and lie out of it. If you know when 
you're well off you'll back up every thing I say. [Sits l.] 

Fran. [l. c] You tell the lies. I'll swear to them. 

Lys. Not a word about my marriage or step-daughter. 

Fran. Mum's the word. 

Lys. If I pull through I'll set up a case. 

Fran. A case, sir? Give me a tip. 

Lys. Sure. If you're quiet, a case of Mumm. Here he comes. 
[Fran, retires up.] 

Col. [Entersn. 2 e.. and conies doivn steps.] Well, sir, what the 
thunder are you doing here. [Crossing l.] 

Lys. [Rising.] Returning the compliment, Uncle, what the 
thunder are you doing here? 

Col. I thought you were in England. [Angrily.] 

Lys. I thought you were in California. [Qnietly.] 

Col. You're an ungrateful, undutif ul scamp. 

Lys. Not I, sir. I came here to see you. [Crossing c] 

Col. Why aren't you dosing and carving people at Guy's Hos- 
pital? 

Lys. I couldn't stand the c!imate — contracted chronic bron- 
chitis complicated with regurgitation of the liver. I thought I 
was going to croke and my doctors ordered a sea voyage and 
change of air. 

Col. Hum! That's why you've been home six weeks without 
letting me know it. [Sits l. on bench.] 

Lys. I only arrived in New York yesterday and came straight 
to Newport to pay my respects. 

Col. Too thin, sir. I am better informed — you have been in 
America six weeks and I know it. 

Lys. You have been grossly deceived, sir. [Beckons tu Fran. 
who comes down.] Let me present you to Don Francisco Mart- 
inez— a Brazilian nobleman. 

Ci>l. Proud to meet you, Don. [Rising and bowing.] 

Fran. L^- ^'-l I have much pleasure. [Boiviny profonndhj, 
i( (is in ghat with aflowrish.] 

Lys. [c] Don Francisco will tell you that we were fellow 



A MODERN ANANIA8. 17 

passengers on the Britannic unci arrived in New York yesterday. 

Fi'aii. Oh, that is certain I 

Col, [Perplexed.] Well— I'm daslied! Prom the same source 
I hear that you are wildly infatuated with some woman. [Ci^osses 
to Lys. c] 

Lys. Sir! 

Col. And that last night you gave her certain recklessly ex- 
travagant proofs that you are a fool, sir. 

Lys. I did, Uncle? How? 

Col, Steam yachts, string bands, bushels of flowers, opera 
singers and the Lord knows what all ! 

Lys. [r. c] What an absurd lie! You know the state of my 
finances too well to believe a word of it. Who told you? 

Col. A friend of yours. He knows it all. 

Lys. Dash wood! He always knows it all. Moreover he is 
here and is likewise the most notorious liar of my acquaintance. 

Col. I am astounded— what, Dash wood a liar? 

Lys. Joe Mulhatton's only living rival. I had to cut his ac- 
quaintance because I innocently repeated a few common-place 
things he told me. People actually began to accuse vie of un- 
truthfulness. 

Fran, [l,.] [Aside.] How cruel. 

Col. I never heard this of him before. 

Lys, Do you want any stronger proof than this silly lie? 
What's more, I'll bet his description was as detailed as it was 
vivid. 

Col. It was; extremely so. 

Lys. [r. c] That's his system. He'd deceive the very elect. 
Why, there isn't a scintilla of truth in the whole story. Is there 
Don? 

Fran. [l. c] x\11 absolute fiction, upon my honor. I'll swear 
to that. 

Col. I've been imposed upon. Yet I can't help pitying the fel- 
low—he's very agreeable company. [Crossing l.] 

Lys. Liars usually are entertaining. 

Col. [l..] That's a fact. And when they once contract the 
habit they can't reform. It becomes constitutional. 

Lys. Dash wood's case to a dot. [Crossing l.] 

Fran. [Aside.] I'll swear it's his! [Crossing r.] 

Col. Well, sir, I'm glad you have been able to explain this 
thing. Now I must be off to find my doctor. 

Lys, You're not ill, I hope? 

Col. I'm a very sick man. Came all the way from California 
to consult Dr. Soakem, the eminent specialist. 



18 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Lys. [l. c] Why, what's the matter? 

Col. [l.] I don't know. I wish I did. Dr. Briggs doesn't 
know either and I'm afraid I'm in a very bad way. Just imagine 
— whenever I eat — I may even say sometimes when I don't eat, I 
have such a feehng of fullness all down h.ere and all through 
here— 

Lys. How many meals do you eat a day? 

Col. Very seldom more than three. 

Lys. You're in a very critical condition. As a medical man I 
tell you that. 

Col. This is what I feared. I have sent for my attorney who 
will be here to-morrow to make my will. Meantime I want to 
introduce you to a girl. 

Lys. [Aside.] That awful girl from California! 

Col. Where can I meet you in an hour? 

Lys. Anywhere you please, sir. 

Col. Then right here. 

Lys. Very well, sir. In an hour. 

Col. Don Francisco, I bid you good day, sir. If there ia any- 
thing I can do for you I shall be most happy, sir. 

Fran. [r. c] I thank you with all my heart. 
[Ex. Col. I.. 2 E.] 

Lys. [Shaking hands ivith Fran.] You get the champagne, 
I've squared myself and knocked Dash wood's eye out all at one 
stroke. Derby's a knocker but I carry a nice long-handled ham- 
mer myself. [Goes up a little c.J 

Fran. You'll have an awful time reconciling those stories some 
day. 

Lys. [C/p c] Not if I quit now. Of course if I keep up this 
clip in the course of time my reputation for veracity may actually 
be questioned and I couldn't stand that. I have told my last tib. 
Prom this moment I'm a reformed man! Dull, prosaic truth is 
my long suit and my rampant imagination is curbed with an in- 
tellectual bit and bridle! [27i?.s- bring.'i him r. c. up.] 

Fran, [r.] Noble resolution. 

Lys. Now for that lovely girl. I must write her a letter and 
lay my heart at her feet. 

Fran. You're not losing any time. 

Lys. Strike while the iron's hot, Francisco. Never let a woman 
forget you, even for a minute. Let's see— what the deuce k- her 
name? Tutti Frutti. 

Fran. Well, hardly! 

Lys. I know it has something to do with chewing gum. 

Fran. Her father made his million in gum. 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 19 

Lys. Sure — and that accounts for the way he stuck to his 
money. Rut her name? 

Fran. Prudence Mayflower. 

Lys. That's it. Lovely name. Prudence Mayllower! Puts 
you in mind of the Pilgrim fathers, Plymouth Rock, Back Hay, 
liunker Hill and all that sort of thing. Well, I'll write her a let- 
ter without a single lie ni it. 

Fran. That's right, sir. Tell the truth — for a change. 

Lys. It would be ungenerous to deceive a lady, particularly 
one whose papa has waggled a million dollars out- of people's jaws 
by the chewing gum route. Come, I want you to carry my letter. 
[En\ I.. U.E.] 

Fran. I'd like to read that romance when its written. E,v. r.. 

U. E.] 

Enter Nell, and Prnd. from hotel. 1 luy sjjeak as they cross l,. 

Pru<l. Are you really smitten with that adventurer, dear? 

Nell. Adventurer he may be; but he is a very charming fellow. 

Prud. Beware how you throw away yourself and your fortune 
on a man you know nothing about except from his own account, 

Nell. I'd sooner throw myself away than be thrown by my 
guardian mto the arms of his jjrecious nephew. Ugh! I hate 
doctors! [Sits and does fancy work.] 

Prud. Then poor Derby Dashwood's nose is out of joint. 

Nell. Not necessarily. 

Prud. What are your intentions? 

Nell. I haven't any. Perhaps, if I don't like this stranger bet- 
ter, I may marry Derby yet. I may even marry Dr. Lyon, l^ut 
I'd hate to do it. 

Prud. I'm afraid you're a very giddy girl, dear. 

Nell. On the contrary — I'm strictly business. For instance, I 
have invested my money in a variety of stocks, bonds and other 
properties. If one investment goes up the flume, I still have the 
others to fall back on. 

Prud. But what has that to do with matrimony? [Sits further 
up stage on be7ich.] 

Nell. Oh, it's distinctly a matter o' money — now, you wouldn't 
have me more careful of my purse than of my person and for that 
reason I don't put all my matrimonial eggs into one basket, either, 

Prud, Oh! I see, dear. You have invested your love in a vari- 
ety of masculine securities. 

Nell. Precisely. The visible supply of husbands consists of 
the stranger, Derby Dashwood and Dr. Lyon. I am prepared to 
hate that gentleman on sight but I had to invest in him too in 
order to corner the husband market. 



20 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Prod. [Aside.] Well, of all the conceit! [Rising and going 
c] 

[Enter Col. l. 2 e. He goes c. to Priid. and then to Nell. 

Col, [Kisses their hands.\ An old man's privilege my dears. I 
have news for you Nellie. 

Nell. News for me? 

Col, [Ooing c. as Fr\iA» crosses Ij.] Yes. Lysander has return- 
ed hastily from Europe in consequence of a bad case of liver — 
1 mean bronchitis. He is in Newport. 

Nell, [To Prud.] The battle is on. 

Col, Eh— what? My dear, as I've told you before, nothing 
would please me so much as your marriage to my nephew, but I'll 
never force your inclinations. 

Nell, [Aside.] You bet you won't! 
[Fran, enters l. u. e. with note, cautiously crosses to lioteU exits, 
reappears and e.i'iis again l. u. e.J 

Col, Well, I really must be off to see that specialist — Dr. 
Soakem— a very clever man. Just imagine— whenever I eat, and 
indeed I may say- 

Nell. Oh, we are familiar with the symptoms, Guardy— ha, 
ha, ha! 

Col, So you are — I had forgotton. Don't forget. Miss Prud- 
ence, that you promised me a game of cribbage after dinner. Till 
then, au revoir. 

Prud. I'll not forget— au revoir. [E.r. Col. e. u. e.J What a 
dear old man! 

Nell. Indeed he is, but for all that I'm not going to marry 
Lysander. [Enter D^rh, front hotel] W^hy, what's the matter 
with Derby? 

Pnid. He looks as if he had a pain. 

Derb. [Crossing e.] A letter for you Miss Mayflower. I saw 
it in your box and thought you might like to have it at once, don't 
you know. 

Prud. Thank you very much. Will you excuse me? [Retires 
up and opens letter. Makes strenuons effo)tx to overhear the 
coucersation. Nell, observes tins.] 

Derb. [e. c.J I hope you feel no ill effects from last night's 
dissipation. Miss Goldengale. 

Nell. Dissipation? 

Derb. I was afraid you might have taken cold through staying 
BO late on the v»'ater, don't you know. 

Nell. What are you talking about? 

Derb. Steam yacht, operatic concert, flowers, dancing don't 
you know, and supper at a hundred dollars a plate. Irresistible 
temptation to.late hours, really 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 21 

Nell. [Aside.] Poor little man. His brain is turned. 

Deri). [Aside.] She winces. [Aloud.] I suppose you are 
uliarmed with Dr. Lyon. Such a jolly, dashing, altogether desi- 
rable fellow, to say nothing of his lavish hospitality, don't you 
know. 

Nell. You really ought to carry an umbrella. The sun has such 
an awful effect on some people. 

Derb. That doesn't answer my question about Lyon, don't you 
know. 

Nell. I never give my opinion of a man I don't know — don't 
you know. 

Deri), You don't know Lysander Lyon? 

Nell. Never saw him in my life. 

Derb. Really! 

Nell. [Rises. Verij angrij. Pauses a moment and then cut- 
tingly.] You insult me, Mr. Dashwood. 

Derb, I beg pardon, really. [Aside.] Who would imagine 
that those lips could utter such diabolical crammers, by Jove! 
[Aloud.] Miss Goldengate, do you know that one of us is about to 
cut a very ridiculous figure? 

Nell. Don't worry. I'm not going to cut you, Mr. Dashwood.. 

Derb. Nobody ever doubted your wit, Miss Goldengate; but I 
repeat— one of us is about to look very foolish. 

Nell, Nobody ever doubted your talent for excelling in that 
direction, Mr. Dashwood. 

Derb. Thanks, awfully, but it doesn't chance to fall to my lot 
on this occasion, don't you know. 

Nell. Oh —/ am to play the fool! How amusing! Ha, ha, ha! 
But really, I am so dull that I can't make head or tail of this funny 
little spat. 

Derb, [c verij pompon sly.] Allow me to inform you, then, 
that I am fully aware of last night's revels. 

Nell, How dreadful! [Mockinglij.] 

Derb. From the moment you boarded the yacht until you land- 
ed at daybreak I know every detail. 

Nell. You terrify me. 

Derb, Yes— opera singers, musicians, cut ilowers and Delmon- 
ico supper. I know it all. 

Nell. You always do know it all. How did you find it out? 

Derb. From the lips of the very idiot whose folly provided 
such a display of lavish extravagance. 

Nell. His name. I demand it.- [117/7/ suppressed rage, step- 
jnng toivards Jiim] 

Derb. [Retre((tiiuj a little k.] Lysander Lyon, M. I). 



22 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Nell. He told you all this himself? [Stiff advancing. Here 
treats r.] 

Dorb. He did. 

Nell. You didn't fall asleep and dream it? 

Derb. Most certainly not. 

Nell. Then I don't know what Dr. Lyon was thinking' of. 
[Siceepa around and goes l.J 

Derb. [r.] Cornered at last, by Jove! 

Nell. [Tnrns saddenfy.] Not at all, sir. And as you can hard- 
ly expect me to be very much delighted with this visit you will 
excuse me wishing it as brief as possible. [Sits l.] 

Derb. [Crossing to c] I am not surprised that you feel em- 
barrased. Miss Goldengate, and for the future I shall do myself 
the i)leasLire, don't you know, of sparing you the annoyance of my 
jjresence. Good afternoon. 

Nell. Thanks, awfully, (iood afternoon. [.bJ.rit Derb. i^. u. k. 
Priul, comes (t(nrn\] ^Vell, did you ever hear the equal of that! 

Priid. [v.] Of cour&e I couldn't help hearing ])art of the con 
versation. 

Nell. Of co^</-.s<^ you couldn't, dear. [Sovu'wfiat sarcai>ticaili/.\ 

Prud, And you really never saw Dr. Lyon? 

Nell. Vou know I didn't. 

Prud. Then lose no time in making liis ac({uaintance, dear. 
I W'itfi niaficioHs sn-eetness.] 

Nell. Why so, Prudie? 

Prud, Don't call me Prudie, I hate it. 

Nell, Dear Miss Mayflower — why should I lose no time in mak- 
ing Dr. Lyon's acquaintance? 

Prud. Because he's your last chance. 

Nell, Ha, ha, ha! Oh, 1 gness not! But what have you 
there? 

Prud, A letter from the general whom we met this morning. 

Nell, li'emet! That's .(/ow/ .' What does he say? Oh, I beg 
your pardon, I didn't mean to ask. 

Prud. 1 have no secrets from you, dear. [Sits f>esi(fe fier.] It's 
merely a formal declaration of love. 

Nell. Why, you didn't even see him. 

Prud, Oh, yes I did. What is more, he very evidently saw me. 
Vou may read it. 

Nell. [Glancing at fetter. \ Carried by storm- artillery of your 
eyes -heart's undying devotion— forced to capitulate— fortress of 
your affections hand and fortune at your feet. The stranger. 
Why, it's addresssd to yoit. 

Prud, Oi coarse \i'\^. [Trinuiptiantfy.] 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 23 

\ell. But he signs no luiriie. 

Priid. There was no need. [Riae.s.] Our eyes met and we iin- 
ilerstood each other. [I\tiptii)-oi(sltj.\ 

Nell. {Iron i call ij.\ Let nie congratulate you, dear, on your 
conquest. [l\i>.cs (.ndhis.ses Iter. Aside. \ Hateful thing. She 
always was homely antl conceited, but since she is growing old she 
is becoming a i)erfect fright. 

Priul, []\li(> hiisyone i(p(.\ Lookitiy off J., v. E.] Why, Nell, 
here come the general and iiis Brazilian friend with Col. Lyon. 

Xeil. You don't say. Let me have a peep. [Going np. Looks 
off.\ They're coming liere. 

Prud. It won't do to meet him in your guardian's presence. 

Xell. Hardly. It would involve some awkward explanation. 

Priid, They come we've no time to lose. [Exit into hotel.] 
[Enter €ol., Lys, and Frail, i.. u. e.] 

Col. [As theij come down.] Ah, Don, you liave been so enter- 
taining that I forgot all about my specialist again. Oh, well, to- 
morrow will be time enough. I don't suppose I'm in any imme- 
diate danger. [Fran, goes down r.] 

Lys. [r. c] You'd better put yourself under my treatment, 
uncle. 

Col. [c] Not on purpose, my boy. No experiments for me. 
I want a man who knows his business. 

Lys. Have your own wav — it's your money to waste as vou 
will. 

Col. My boy, I'll put you onto something. The fellow who 
like Dr. Soakem won't even look at your tongue for less than a 
hundred dollars in advance gets a man's confidence, and confi- 
dence is every thing. But what's the matter with you? There's 
something on your mind. [Drawing him r..] 

Lys. Nothing, uncle, I assure you. 

Col. Don't tell me. You don't seem a bit enthusiastic over 
marrying a lovely girl with money to burn and good, sound, com- 
mon sense into the bargain. 

Lys. There's plenty of time for marriage, sir. I don't want to 
settle down just yet. 

Col. There isn't plenty of time, sir. Nell has a whole herd of 
lovers dangling about and the first thing you know one of them 
will snap her up. [Si^s.J 

Lys. [l. c] [Aside^] I wish one of them would. He'd have 
my blessing. 

CoL Haven't I always done what was best for you? Very well. 
I'm going to handle this matter on business principles. You shall 
commence courting her to-night or by jingo, yes — by the living 



2i A MODERN ANANIAS. 

jingo I'll cut YOU off with a silver dollar to buy a rope to haiij,' 
yourself, 

Lys, But Miss Goldeugate may object to being courted on bus- 
iness principles. 

Col. No she won't, sir. I've educated her up to it. 

Lys, Then I may not like her. 

Col. Don't you dare to come and tell ine you don't like her or 
you'll see trouble. I do everything on a system. This is Satur- 
day. You begin courting her to-night. I'll help you. 

Lys. You're very kind. 

Col. To-morrow will be Sunday and you'll take a day off— to 
court her. Again I'll help you. Monday night you'll propose to 
her. 

Lys. Will you help me? 

Col. No sir. You'll have to go it alone. She's a sensible girl 
and she'll accept. This day week you shall marry her. 

Lys. Will you help me. 

Col. [i^/scs.] Oh, don't be an ass! Now, remember^tljese 
are my wishes and I make my will to-morrow. [Crossing i<> c] 

Lys. Then you are resolved? 

Col, Fixed. 

Lys. Positively? 

Col. Immovably. 

Lys. You'll drive me to despair. 

Col. You'll drive me to drink. [Crosses k. io Fran.] 

Lys. [c] [Aside.] Giveupthat superbly beautiful Mayflower 
and a million for a California tomboy who carries a gun, whistles 
through her teeth, swears in Spanish and rides bareback? Not 
while I live! I'lHw' first. Here goes. [Aloud.] Suppose there 
is an insurmountable objection to this marriage? 

Col. Surmount it. I'll help you. 

Lys. But if I find it impossible to obey your commands? 

Col. I'd like to see you disobey. I make my will to-morrow, 
sir. 

Lys, Then uncle, before I explain let me implore your pardon. 
[With assumed deject ion going-j.. c] 

Col , For w- h at ? [ Ajjp i oach ing him.] 

Lys. What I did one year ago at Mount Vernon, Posey county, 
Indiana. ! 

Col. Where votes cost two dollars apiece. Well? 

Lys. I was 

Col, What? Go on — you were ? 

Lys. [l. c] Married. 

Col. Id Married? 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 25 

Fran. [r. c] Married! 

Lys, Married. 

Col. And without my consent? Oh, you rascal, you vilhan, 
you scoundrel— oh, you— you — you— you— you! [Throics himself 
(jaspiiKj icitJi rayc on beiicJt,.] 

Lys, [c] I was compelled— forced to marry under cover oC a 
shot gun rammed full of buckshot to the very muzzle. Oh, sir, 
if you only knew all the circumstances your rage would soon be 
converted into pity. 

Col. [Chaughig to helpless grief.] M\- boy. My boy this dis- 
aster overwhelms your poor old uncle. But come— make a clean 
breast of the Avhole bag of tricks. 

Ly.s. My shame and mortification make a confession impossi- 
ble. Don Francisco will tell you — he knows it all. [Col, gives 
ivay to his grief.] 

Fran, [r. c] [Aside.] T don't know a thing about it. 

Lys, [c] [Aside.] That's nothing— Tell him what you don't 
know. 

Col. A shot gun wedding! —come Don Francisco— overwhelm 
a heart broken old uncle with all the disgusting details. Oh, my 
boy, my boy! 

Fran. [Crosses tohiin, l.] I give you my word, sir, this affair 
has so shocked me that I am as incapable of telling the tale as 
your own nephew. [To Lys.] Come, come, dear friend. ])o 
not weep. Dry your tears. All may yet be well. [.'4.s/.7t'.] What 
the deuce am I to say next? 

Lys. [c] [Aside.] Anything <niijt/iiug. [Weejjs. Goes k.] 

Fran. You see, .sir, he is completely unmanned. So am I. 
[Weeps.] 

Col. [Rises.] Don, you are a sensitive soul. Your kind con- 
cern at the misfortunes of my family calls for my most grateful 
acknowledgment. I will weep with you. [Weeps on Francisco's 
shoulder, l. c] 

Fran, Oh, sir, it is a terrible misfortune. 

Col. If vou. a stranger, are thus affected, what must an uncle 
feel? 

Fran. More, sir, more a great sight more! 

Col. But we must control ourselves and be men. Let me 

know the worst at once. Xow, sir—at Mount Vernon. 

[Taking c ] 

Fran. [l. c] Yes— at Mount Vernon. 

Col. Posey county, Indiana. [Lvoking from one to tlie other.] 

Fran. Yes, that's right— India county, Posiana. 

Lys. Oh, oh, oh— how can I tell it? How can I tell it! 



26 A MODERN AXANTAS. 

Col. Oh, Sandy, Sandy —I dread to ask but it must be known. 
Who is the girl? Tell me, Don. Who is the girl? [Crosses and 
fiings himself on bench l.] 

Fran. Who is the girl? [Aside.] [Crossing r.] Whom shall 
say? 

Lys. [r. Aside.] Anybody. 

Fran, As to the girl, sir, I cannot tell you her name. It 
wouldn't be right. 

Col. Her position in society? 

Fran. She's just on the ragged edge. [Aside.] Help me out. 

Lys. [Aside.] Swim out. 

Col. I read our disgrace in his reserve — this whispering. Some 
brazen woman! I'm prepared to hear anything. 

Lys. [Crossing to c] It is almost death to me to speak but it 
would be infamous to let the lady's reputation suffer by my sil- 
ence. Her character is untarnished. 

Col. That's some comfort. 

Lys. [c] She is not rich, but well educateil. 

Col. Her name? 

Lys. Martha Mockridge. Her father is luaycjr of the town. 
[Fran, crosses l. and leans over hack of beiicli.] 

Col. Proceed. 

Lys. About a year ago, Derby Dash wood 

Col. The liar? 

Lys. Exactly — invested heavily in a gas well at Mouiit Vernon. 
I made a trip with him to inspect the purchase, intending to re- 
commend the investment to you should it strike me favorably. 

Col- Thoughtful, at least. 

Lys. There, at asocial gathering, I met the mayor's daughter. 

Col. Is she pretty? 

Lys. Beautiful as a dream. She is a dream. 

Col. Skip all that. 

Lys. To her beauty she adds culture, refinement and discre- 
tion — unless she has forfeited that virtue by lixing Jier affections 
on me. 

Col. Modestly spoken. 

Lys. Dreading her poverty I said nothing to you 

Col. That was wrong, sir. 

Lys. And because 1 feared it might couie to your ears I also 
concealed our love from the lady s family. We met in secret. 

Col. [Sternlij reproving.] W^as that deceit, sir? Still— love 
and prudence, madness and reason. It miglii be excused. 

Lys. One fateful evening -the 13tii of July, unlucky 13! We 
were in a retired room innocently exchanging mutual — 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 27 

<Jol. You may skip that. 

Lys. We thought her father safe at a meeting; of tiie city 
council, when suddenly he burst in upon us, T had only time to 
conceal myself in a closet- 
Col. Without him seeing you? 

Lys. Entirely. But it happened that a cat had a day or two 
before lodged a family of kittens in the same place. Unluckily I 
trod upon one of the litter, which so enraged the mother cat that 
she flew" at me w^ith all the fury of a tigress. 

Col. I have noticed that the feline species is very tierce in de- 
fense of its young. [Risen.] 

Lys. The noise attracted the old gentleman's attention. He 
opened the door and dragged me forth. 

CoL [Goes to Lys, (1 11(1 jjlaces botJi Jiand^i on liis sJtoalders.] 
My boy, my boy— what a situation! 

Fran. [l,. Aside.] I wouldn't accept it at <///// wages. 

Lys. [r. c] I drew^ my revolver and rushed to the door, but 
at the top of the stairs—— 

CoL [c] Ah ! You were in peril! [Shaking Jiis head sad- 
ly 7\' turns to bench and. sits.] 

Lys, My foot slipped and I fell head over heels to the bottom. 
In the fall my revolver was discharged and in an instant her 
three brothers had rushed upon me from the parlor, urged on l>y 
the old man, who encouraged them to murder me, th^' set upon 
me most viciously. 

CoL They had you completely at their mercy. 

Lys. Not quite. With the butt end of my revolver I was giving 
as good as I got until a big, black, greasy kitchen wench struck 
my wrist with a heavy poker and disarmed me. The result is 
obvious. [Goes r.] 

Col. Marriage became an unavoidable measure in view of the 
lady's reputation, your condition, her beauty, your love — 

Lys. And her father's shotgun loaded to the muzzle. 

Col. My boy, you were more unfortunate than culpable. 

Lys. [r. Aside.] He is relenting. I escape from the Oalifor- 
11 i a terror and the way is open to my pretty Prudence. If this 
luck holds up I'll keep my bewitching step-daughter out of the 
way for a week and — 

Enter Baby and Kitty k. 3 e. Baby comes doini c] 
My dream is shattered. [Tries to snea/c into hotel.] 

Baby. Peek-a-boo! I see you hiding there. [Drags him down 
front.] Tome now — oo Baby wants a tiss. [Kisses and. embraces 
liiin.] 

Col. [Rises excitedly.] Lysander, who is this female? 



28 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Lys. [Aside to Baby tcho is on his k.J No matter what 1 
say, keep your mouth shut. My life depends on it. 

Col. [Going c] Come, sir, I'll stand no further trifling. Who 
is this woman? 

Lys. [c] Why, sir, she— she is— 

Col. [l. c] Out with it! 

Lys. My mother. [Baby screams ami faints in Lysandvr's 
arms. Repasses her to Col. who makes frantic efforts /c»j.((/.s.s 
her back. He dumps her into Francisco's arms, who is at his j- 
elboivand as Nell., Derby and Prud. enter from hotel he seizes 
Lys. hy the collar and forces him to his knees.] 

Derby. 

Prudence, 

Nellie, all <»i the sie})^. 

Col. and Lys. Baby and 

Francisco, 
Kitty. 

Quick Curtain. 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 29 

ACT 11. 

[An hotel parlo)-. Arch c. E.vicrior hacking. Flat in 3d 
(jrooves. Doors r. 1 e. and i.. 3, e. iu box. Large 3-leaf screen 
just above door \i. Sniail stand in k. upper corner. Easel with 
picture betiveen arch and l. door. Sofa doirn l. Table icith tel- 
egraph blanks, paper<,p)en and ink on it and two chairs down r. 
Carpet doirn, other chairs, bric-a-brac, etc. At riae Col, and 
Prudence are j^laying cribbage down r. and as curtain goes up 
Nellie is finishing a little snatcJi of song. She is seated on sofa 

Col, [After song a>id. looking at cards.] Very pretty, very 
pretty indeed. 

Nell. I'm fflad you like the son^j, Guardy. 

Col, Song? What song? Excuse me, my dear. I wasn't list- 
ening. I was alluding to my crib. Fifteen-two, fifteen-four, lif- 
teen-six and six are 12, a pair 14, and a pair IG. [Pegs game.] 
Ah, Miss Prudence, one more hand like that and you will be hoi)e- 
lessly beaten. It's all in the crib, you know. 

Prud. Well, it's niij crib this time and the game isn't lost yet. 
[Deals cards.] 

Col, I'm so passionately fond of music. Strange thing that I 
could never distinguish one tune from another wittiout hearing 
the words. 

Xell, It is odd, Guardy. [Goes uj> to arch and looks off while 
Priid. and Col, j)/a?/ cards.] 

Col. Was that bv Wagner? 

Nell, Oh, no— 

Col. I thought not. It seems to have some music in it. 

Prud. The crib gives me a pair and that just puts me out. 

Col. Vou little witch, you've beaten me after all. 

Prud. That pair did it. It's all in the crib vou know, sir. 
Ha, ha! 

[Enter Fran, c] 

Frau. Colonel Lyon. Ladies. [Boivs.] 

Col. Good evening, Don— -but it's no use. [i?/.s7^s.] I'll never 
see that deceitful scamp again. 

Nell. [Going tohiinc] Now Guardy, don't nurse your anger. 

Prud. [r.] Please forgive him, sir. 

Col. Never! He not only disobeyed me by having anything to 
do with that woman, but plumped her into my arms as well. 

Nell. But she is his mother, sir. Think of his natural affec- 
tion. 



30 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Col. Natural fiddlesticks! I've hated her for thirty years and 
by the living jingo I shall keep ou liating her to the end of the 
chapter. 

Nell. But you shouldn't expect huu to hate his mother. It 
isn't Christianlike. 

Col. Persuasion is useless. I'm done witli him forever. [Goes 
r..l 

Fran. [Coming down o.J If you could only see the grief in 
which my poor friend is plunged 

Col. [l.J I don't want to see his grief. He has made his own 
bed; now let him lie in it. 

Fran. [Jis/de.] He'll lie in it, never fear. Even in the grave 
he'll lie— unless they bury him standing up. 

Nell. [r. c] At least, for my sake, give him a chance to ex- 
plain. 

Col. He cunt explain. 

Fran. [Aside.] Oh, cant he! He can explain anything. 

Pnid. [r.] Please hear him, sir. 

Col. ' Well- I'll see him, but it won't do any good. [Sits i.. on 
sofa.] 

Fran, Sir, I thank you. Ladies, accept my most respectful 
gratitude. [Goes vp a little. Aside.] I've nii.red those girls. 
When he finds out that he's in love with Nellie, he'll kill me. [Ex. 
c] 

Prud. [k.] I wonder how Dr. Lyon chances to know the gen- 
eral's Brazilian friend? 

Noll, [r. c] Oh, men get acquainted so easily. 

Prutl. And so do some women. 

Nell. What do you mean by that? 

Pnul. Oh,nothing dear, of course! [Lys» appears c?^ 

Nell. Hush— the general! [Nell, a ndVrml, hide behind screen 
ahoce b. door.] 

Lys. [Withoiit entering.] Uncle — speak to me. [Col. rises.] 

Nell. Uncle! Good heavens, he is Lysander! It is for him 
we have been pleading. 

Prud. Oh, Nell — Isn't it awful! But quick — let us escape. 
[?yx. both unseen R. door.] 

Lys. Uncle — have you no word for me? 

Col. Yes. You may come in. I thought, sir, that you had 
something to say to me. [Crosses and. sits r.. of table.] 

Lys. [Comes doini.] Only to acknowledge that I disobeyed 
your most imperative commands in communicating with my 
mother and to ask your forgiveness. 

Col. You knew the result. I make a new will to-morrow, sir. 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 31 

Lys. [c.j That makes no difference to me, sir. 

Col. It doesn't, eh? It makes a difference to you of about 

-$500,000. 

Lys. I can bear that, knowing that I have rescued my mother 
from wretchedness and starvation. 

Col. In seekini? her out you defied ?He. Nothing can alter 
that. 

Lys. Fate, no act of mine, brought us together. One night, 
tliree months ago, while crossing the Strand, I heard a shriek of 
I)ain. A woman, faint with hunger, had fallen beneath the horses' 
feet. With the instinct of the surgeon I forced my way through 
the crowd and had her taken to Guy's hospital. She was cruelly 
maimed, and as she lay upon the operating table her eyes opened. 
'"Lysander," she whispered, "my son, my baby. I would have 
known you among a million by the wart on the side of your nose." 
[Col. rises and e.vamins Lys. face through his glasses.] What's 
the matter, sir? 

Col. I'm looking for that infernal wart. 

Lys. Next day I had it amputated. 

Col. [Sits doivn at table.] What did you bring that woman 
here for? 

Lys. To place her in the home for aged ladies on Staten Is- 
land. 

Col. That at least was creditable in you, Sandy. 

Lys. For myself, I ask nothing, sir. But oh, forgive het'! 
Think of her long and bitter repentance — think what a wretch I 
would be to live on the fat of the land through your abundant 
generosity while leaving the mother w^hobore me to die in a ditch. 

Col. [Much moved.] My boy, my boy— you have a noble heart. 
[Rises. Embraces Lys^ 2vho vinks at audience over old mait's 
shoulde)'.] 

Lys. [Aside.] Oh, I couldn't explain a fMvzf/ / 

Col. Well, Sandy, I'll go out on the veranda and think it over, 
[fee] 

Lys, He can't lose me. To get out of marrying that California 
girl I've had to tell a thundering lot of fibs, but the image of 
Prudence, lovely Prudence, fills my heart and soul. Under the 
circumstances, what wouldn't a lover do? I'll just go out and 
help him to think it over. [Ex. c] 

Nell, enters r. door. 

Nell. There's nobody here. [Prml. enters r. door.] 

Prud. So our general turns out to be Lysander Lyon, a mar- 
ried man and a most unmitigated story teller. 

Nell. Yes— but with all due allowance for his awful romanc 



32 A MODERN AN\\NIAS. 

ing, there's a mystery here that I'd like to see solved. [Sits l. off 
table.] 

Priid. [c] There is also a mystery which I'd like to solve. 

Nell. And that is ? 

Priid. Why you are bo jealous that this married fabricator has 
deserted your shrine and commenced worshiping at mine. [Crosses 
and sits on sofa.] 

Nell. Don't you take a good deal for granted? 

Priid. Haven't I his letter? 

Nell. From the way you harp on that absurd note you force 
me to conclude that you never got one before. 

Priid. Don't get angry with me dear, /didn't spread any net. 
The bird flew right into the cage without any coaxing whatever. 

Nell. What pretty metaphors! You are setting up for a blue- 
stocking as well as a beauty, I see. The world will confess that 
your claim to wit at least equals your mortgage on good looks. 

Prud. Don't distress yourself about me, dear. The world is 
not likely to base its judgment on the opinions of a disappointed 
and envious rival. [Shoiring annoyance.] 

Nell. Whatever may be your beauty, Miss Mayflower, your 
inability to control your temper argues little for your breeding. 

Prud. I hope I shall always exhibit a proper resentment at 
any studied insolence. Our meeting here and its purpose were 
suggested by you. 

Nell. How kind of you to remind me, dear. 

Prud. Perhaps you dread the mortification of seeing your 
boasted fascinations disproved. If so, I shall willingly excuse 
you from remaining. [jRi&es.] 

Nell, [i^/ses.] Oh, indeed! At last tlie cat is out of the bag! 
You deliberately provoked a quarrel so that you could receive this 
married flirt alone. Disingenous Miss Mayflower! If all Eastern 
girls are equally innocent I blush for them. [Goes up.] 

Prud, If all Western girls resemble you, Miss Goldengate, they 
have my sincere pity. 

Nell. [Turns up c] We W^estern girls are better brought u[) 
than to brazenly acknowledge an infatuation for a married man. 

Prud. Then I suppose our plan is abandoned? 

Nell. [Comes doum a little c] I am ready to carry it out on 
one condition. 

Prud. Name it. 

Nell, That you allow me to assume your name throughout the 
interview. 

Prud. Oh, certainly! Any little thing like that, dear, of 
course. [Sarcastically. Sits i.,] 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 



33 



Nell. Pray save your sarcasm unlil after the test. Hark! I 
hear footsteps. [Runs, up and looks off'c] It is Dr. Lyon. 
Don't let him see you. [Comes down c.]. 

Prud. [Crossing r.] Have no fear that I shall bungle my part 
Miss Goldengate. [Hides beloiv screen.] ' 

Enter Lysander,] 

Lys. Fortune favors me. She is alone. Miss Mayflower. Am 
I right? [Up c] 

Nell. [Down beside fable.] I see, sir, that you have received 
my letter. 

Lys. And flew to keep the appointment with [Coming 

doivn eagerly.] 

Nell. No nonsense, please. Don't think that this meeting was 
meant to encourage you. 

Lys. Iwas hardly so presumptuous. [Prud, shps arownd be- 
tween screen iclien he has passed.] 

Nell. [B.C.] The fact is that your conversation was so very in- 
teresting this morning — 

Lys. [Downc] Thanks. [Aside.] That's my long suit and 
the only way I can dodge the sharp questioning of little Tootsy- 
wootsy. [Going l.] 

Prud. [Peeping from behind .screen. A.nde.] When did I 
ever converse with him? 

Nell. [Aside.] You saw him this morning. 

Prud. [Aside.] Yes— but the conversation was with you. 

Nell. [Aside.] Exactly, dear. Some people are so obtuse! 
[Prud. disappears.] 

Lys. [l.] I hope, then, that we shall bercome very much bet- 
ter acquainted. 

Nell. You are already better known than you imagine. 

Lys. [Aside.] I hope not! 

Nell. Your name is Lyon. 

Lys. [Asidel] The deuce! [Aloud] True— Lysander Lvon 
M. D. 

Nell. When do you return to Brazil, geneml? 

Lys. Ha, ha, ha! Really, Miss Mayflower, I must apologize 
for that outrageous Brazilian story. I certainly thought you 
knew I was joking. 

Nell. Oh, that was merely a Joke. 

Lys. That's all, upon my honor, and I hope you will forgive it 
I have heard it remarked that my jokes are apt to be taken some- 
what seriously. [He sits on sofa.] 

Nell. Have, you over hoard of a Miss Goldengato? [Sitting l. 
of table.] 



34 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Lys. Frequently. 

^'elI. Have you ever had auyserions intentions regarding her? 
[Aside to Priid, icho is 2w,epi)i<j.\ Listen, dear. 

Lys. If you mean as a lover, never! But the lady, 1 believe, 
does me the honor to have quite serious designs on me. 

Pnid. [Aside.] I hear every word, dear. [Maliciovshj.] 

Nell. I have been told, however - 

Lys. By the lady herself? She has a most fertile imagination. 

Pnul, [Aside.] I'm listening, dear. 

Xell. I have been told that you know something about a lady 
at Mount Vernon, Indiana. 

Lys. By Miss Goldengate—just as I surmised. Well, I do 
know all there is to know about that lady. 

Nell. [Rising iiidignanthj.] That being the case, sir, how 
dare you, a married man. insult me by ottering your odious at- 
tentions? 

Lys. The Hoosierlady, I assure you, would not object. [Smil- 
ing. He mains seated.] 

Nell, Would not object? 

Lys. Not in the least. The only wife I have is in my mind. 

Nell, In your mind! 
Lys. Just so. A mere creature of the imagination. The at- 
tacks of the Goldengate fc-irl were so powerfully backed by my 
uncle's positive commands that to protect myself from her I in- 
vented the Hoosier lady, marriage and all. I'm only surprised 
that I didn't invent a family also on the spurof tlie moment. 

Nell. Granting that your defense is true, was your action hon- 
orable? [Sits R. of table.] 

Lys. [Rises and crosses r.] Miss Mayflower should be the last 
to condemn me for a moral lapse her own charms have occasioned. 
No other motive than the fear of losing you could have prevaileil 
on me to deceive my uncle aud infringe those laws which I have 
hitherto inviolably observed. 

Nell. What laws, sir? 

Lys. The sacred laws of truth! [Sits r. of table.] 

Nell. Poor Miss Goldengate! 

Lys. Are you acquainted with her? 

Nell. I have heard of her; but you, I presume, have been long 
on an intimate footing? 

Lys. We were raised together. 

Nell. [Aside.] Again in his mind. [Aloud.] Is she hand- 
some? 

Lys. Her paint comes from Paris and her maid is qui^e an 
artist. 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 35 

Nell. Her form? 

Lys. Thanks to the corset maker ;uk1 her ladies' tailor, (jiiite a 
work of art. 

Nell. Her style? 

Lys. Wildly Western -uses slang, carries a gun, whistles 
through her teeth, swears in Spanish and thinks nothing of l)reak- 
ing a bucking broncho before breakfast. 

Nell. What a graphic picture! How about her intellect ■.■' 

Lys. To do her justice, naturally bright but uncultivated. 

Nell. Education? 

Lys. Neglected. 

Nell. Taste? 

Lys- Atrocious. 

Nell. Temper? 

Lys. Vile. 

Nell. Delightful creature! But come, these are not your real 
opinions. You think it will Hatter me to belittle the charms of 
your uncle's ward. 

Lys, If you do not think me commonly candid at least give 
tne credit for the courage of my convictions. 

Nell. Would vou dare to acknowledge them before the lady's 
face ? 

Lys. At the first opportunity. 

Neli. Will you meet her here? 

Lys. When? 

Nell. In half an hour. 

Lys. The sooner the better. 

Nell. Then in half an hour. [Rises.] Be punctual. [Crosses 

to C.J 

Lys. [Rises.] I shall be here. [Cj-osses up l.] Till then, ati 
revoir. [Ex. l. door. Prurt, .s7?^).s- between screen and box ((s he 
2)nsses.] 

Prud, [Down r.] You don't know how sorry I felt for you, 
dear. 

Nell, [c] Before I am through with him Jie will be the person 
to be pitied. But come, we both want revenge — let us plan it. 
1 tJ,r. door r.J 

Derb. [Wltliout.] Now really, dear girls — I can't do it, you 
know— I have a dreadful cold really. [Enters c] It's a dreadfid 
thing to be so awfully popular. [Conies down.] Now, where the 
deuce is the Colonel? 

[Col, enters c] 

Derb. Ah, Colonel— you were looking for me? 

Col. Yes sir, I was. [Coming doirn.] I am informed that you 



36 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

own a gas well at Mount Vernon. Indiana. 

Deri), [l. c] Then your informant lied abomniably, don't you 
know. [Sits on sofa.] 

Col. [Aside.] More lies— more deception. I'll disinherit him. 
[Sits L. of table.] 

Deri). The only thing I own in that town is a hole in the 
ground that was once suspected of being a gas well. 

Col. [Aside.] Then it was >/ of deception, after all. [Aloud.] 
Do you know the Mayor of Mount Vernon? 

Deri). Oh, yes- Mayor Perkins. 

Col. No sir— Mayor Mockridge. 

Deri). Mount Vernon is my home, don't you know, and there 
never has been any mayor of that name. 

Col. [Aside.] Lysander's description fits him to a hair. He's 
a liar. [Aloud.] Your pretended ignorance of the Mockridge 
family is a generous but unnecessary proof of your friendship for 
my nephew. But I know all aljoiit it. 

Deri). About what? 

Col. Lysander's marriage. 

Derb. What Lysander? 

Col. Why, my nephew, Lysander. 

Derb. \& he married? [Starting to his feet.] 

Col. [Rising.] Is he married f You know he is.' 

Derb. Do I? Well, if I do I didn't know I did 

Col. See here, Dashwood, this thing has gone far enough. He 
has confessed it himself. 

Derb. He has? Really! 

Col. [c] Yes, sir, to me. Every circumstance— going with you 
to Mount Vernon to inspect your gas well— meeting Martha, the 
mayor's daughter, at a party— stolen interviews— surprised by the 
father— kittens — pistol — poker — shot gun and marriage. Not a 
detail lacking. 

Derb. [l. c] And this account was given you by your 
nephew? 

Col. By Lysander himself this afternoon. What had I better 
do? 

Derb. Kill him— I mean, accept my congratulations. [Holds 
out hand.] 

Col There is little reason for congratulation, sir. 

Derb. Oh— I see— you don't approve of the match. 

Col. Not while I'm awake. 

Derb. Well, don't lose any sleep over it. 

Col. What do you mean, sir? 

Derb. That you have one of the most desirable nieces by mar- 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 37 

riage in the whole United States. 

Col. So you do know her. I thought we'd get at the truth 
after a Uttle. [Aside. Rctumuig to chair r. c] They can't fool 
me. I know when a man is lying in a minute. 

Derb. [c] She may not have brought Lysander a fortune, but 
she'll never cost him a dollar. 

Col. Just what he says. [Sittiny chair l. of tabic] 

Derb. And you needn't make any provision in your will for 
her children. 

Coi. Why not? You mean — 

Derb. She hasn't any. 

Col. Ha, ha, ha. 

Derb. Ha, ha, ha! [TJirotr.s Juiioiclf on fJic sofa in <i j)aro.r- 
ysDi of k(U(jJiter.[ 

Col- Something seems to tickle you, sir. 

Derb. This is too rich — ha, ha, ha! it is, by Jove! 

Col. Sir! [Rising.] 

Derb. I beg your pardon— really— but this marriage~ha, ha, 
ha! 

Col. Well, sir? [Annoyed.] 

Derb. Never took place. 

Col. [Going c] Absurd! Do you suppose my nephew would 
dare to impose upon me, sir? 

Derb. He'd dare to impose upon anybody, he would, by Jove! 
I know him. 

Col. What do you know of him? 

Derb. That he is the most irrepressible falsifier I ever met; 
and that whether from constitution or habit, there's no believing 
a word he says. 

Col. Very shrewd, sir, to attempt to turn the tables on Lysand- 
er, but your own reputation for un veracity has preceeded you, 
and by the living jingo, sir, I'm too old a chicken to be fooled by 
a hen. [Throws himself angrihi into chair l. of table.] 

Derb. Sir! [Rising irith indig nation. [ 

Col. My nephew's character can't be blasted by the breath of 
a notorious bouncer. 

Derb. Bouncer? What the dickens do you mean, sir? [Cross- 
ing K. (Did bluster in (J.] 

Col. [In raged.] J said "bouncer" for the sake of euphony, sir. 
[Rises.] But if you prefer the old fashioned Saxon word "liar" 
you may have it, sir, and bed — d to you. 

Derb. [c] You're an old bully. 

Col, You're a voung Joe MuUiatton. 



38 A MODERN AXANIAS. 

Derb. [c.J It yuur outrageous conduct wasn't inspired by 
some of your nepliew's infernal lies, even your age wouldn't pro- 
tect you, sir. No, by Jove! [Crof.b- iqj a little] 

Col. [Squaring oft' at him and daacing around^ uhooping 
mad.] Don't let my age or anything worry you. Sail right in you 
little shrimp. Sail in and let me show you something scientilic. 
[>'ell. enters r. dooi:] 

Nell. [h.c. in front of table.] Guardy — Mr. Dash wood — what 
does this mean? 

Dorb. [l.] Aw— aw — the Colonel is just showing me how the 
houla-houla ladies from Honolulu used to trip it on the Midway, 
don't you know. 

Nell, [Horrified.] The houla-houla! Oh, Colonel— shame! 

Col. [c] I'll punch your head when I get you outside. If I 
don't, sir, damme! 

Derb. Don't wait till you get outside, old chappie. 

Nell. \ Ci'osa in g Ij.] Mr. Dashwood, you've been in a quarrel- 
some mood all day. Now I insist upon knowing what this is all 
about. 

Col. [Drop[)ing don-n- to table.] Young puppy — he had the 
gall to contradict me and attempted to brand my nephew as a fal- 
sifier. I repeat it, sir, Lysander is married. 

Derb. [i.. c] To an imaginary woman. And because I re- 
fused to acknowledge knowing this lady's family you took to car- 
rying on like John L. Sullivan on a rampage. [Turning to Nell,] 
Wanted to tight me, by Jove. But I spared him, don't you know. 

Nell. [To Col. crossing to c] I'm sorry to take sides against 
you, dear, but — 

Col, My dear! [Derb. drops down and sits on sofa.] 

Nell. Lysander has just corroborated Mr. Dashwood. 

Col, He /.S//7 married? It's all a falsehood? 

Nell. Precisely. But the excuses he gives for his extraordi- 
nary fibs are as singular as the story itself. 

Col. What are they? 

Nell. An unconquerable aversion to me, whom he has seen 
but once, and a wild infatuation for Prudence, whom I am almost 
sure he never saw in his life. 

Col. The unblushing scamp! You know how I have forgiven 
his faults, condoned his extravagance and all? Well, I'll do no 
more of it. I hereby call myself out and go on a strike [^/Y.s.J 

Nell. |R- o.] Oh, don't say that, sir. 

Col. I repeat it — I forever cast him olf as a graceless, aband- 
oned, ungrateful, heartless young spendthrift- 
Nell, Tut, tut, tut! [Pnts hand over his vwuth, and whispers 
to him.] 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 39 

Col. Eh? What? [Site whispers and he fjrins.] Ho, ho, ho! 
Oh, well — that's ahorse of another color. 

Nell. Under the circumstances will you let me undertake his 
reformation? I think I can both punish him and effect a cure. 

Col. Well — well— Puss— you may try it. 

Nell. He will return in a minute and you must draw from him 
the truth of the Mount Vernon business. You must also consent 
to his marrying Prudie. 

Col. But I don't want him to marry Prudie. If he does, he'll 
:^ontract the chewing gum habit and I hate it. 

Nell. [Goes c] Don't be alarmed— he'll never marry her. 
Your arm, Mr. Dashwood. 

Deri). [Crossing to c. htirriedlij.] But he ought to apologize, 
don't you know. I insist -really. 

Nell. [Palling him r.] Oh nonsense— he's an old gentleman 
cind you ought to have more sense. 

Derb. Should I, really? By Jove! 

[Ex. ivith Nell. K. doo):] 

Col. [Looking after them. Rises.] That young sprig will 
never be satisfied till I give him a lesson in scrapping. 
[Lysaiider enters c.\ 

Lys. What— Uncle Dick still here? This is my time for dis- 
appearing. [Going c] 

Col. Stop, sir! I want you. What brings you here again? 

Lys. I thought it my duty, sir, to call on Miss Goldengate and 
make some suitable apology for my unfortunate conduct— and — 
and — you understand. [Coming down.] 

CoL Um! You wanted to square yourself, eh? Very polite, 
sir. Devilish polite! 

Lys. I'm glad my conduct meets with your approval. [Sits on 
sofa L.] 

Col. [e. c. Aside wit/i suppressed rage.] Oh, it does— it does! 
[Aloud.] Now, sir, I've been thinking about that poor girl in In- 
diana. As things have turned out it isn't decent to leave her with 
her own people any longer. 

Lys. [Alarmed.] Sir! [Jumps ujj.] 

Col. I'll wire her. [Sits and u-rite telegram.] 

Lys. [l. Aside.] He'll wire her because I've been stringing 
him. If he telegraphs to Mount Vernon the message will be re- 
turned in a few hours and he'll catch onto the fake. 

Col. There. That'll do, [Reads.] "All is forgiven. Am 
anxious to greet my niece. Catch first train and join Lysander 
here. Wire me when you leave. Uncle Dick." I'll just step in- 
to the office and tile it. [Rising to go up.] 



10 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Lys. [Aside.] The dickens he will! [Stops hhii.\ You 
mustn't send that! 

Col. Why not? 

Lys. Because she wouldn't dare to undertake the journey at 
present. 

Col. Why not? What*s the matter with her? 

Lys. [l. c] Why, uncle, she's an invalid. 

Col. [c] Eh, what? Oh you don't say. [Aside.] This caps 
tlie climax! 

Lys. A journey of 1,000 miles just now would be madness. 

Col. Not at all, sir. She can have a Pullman state room all 
to herself and there won't be the slightest danger. 

Lys. Impossible! Her father, the mayor, depends on the labor 
vote for re-election, and if his daughter should patronize the Pull- 
man company, the unions would boycott him as sure as fate. 

Col. I'll write, then, and ask him about that. [Goes to table.] 

Lys. [c] Do, sir. The old gentleman would be delighted to 
receive a letter from you — I have sung your praises to him so 
often. 

Col, [Aside.] The scamp is positively cross eyed in moral ob- 
li*iuity. [Aloud.] That was kind in you. I'll write. Let me 
see —how do you address him? [About to sit.] 

Lys. I always say, "Dear Father-in-law." 

Col. No, no— his postoffice address. 

Lys. Why, Mount Vernon, Posey county, Indiana. But you 
needn't trouble. I shall write my wife by this mail and I'll en- 
close your letter to her father. 

Col. [Aside.] He's like a weasel. I can't catch him asleep. 
[Aloud.] That'll do first rate. [Sits dotcn. Dips pen in ink.] 

Lys. [Aside.] Mighty short curves but I took them all. Talk 
about shooting the chutes! [Sits on sofa.] 

Col. On second thought, Sandy, that would look rather too 
familiar. 

Lys. Why so? 

Col. Oh, officials in small towns feel their oats a good deal and 
have a very keen sense of their dignity. Give me his address and 
I'll mail my own letter. 

Lys. Why, I just gave it to you. 

Col. Yes — but his name. I've been so upset that I've com- 
pletely forgotten it. 

Lys. [Aside^ Confound it! So have I! [Aloud.] His name? 
What, you've forgotten it already? Ha, ha, ha! 

Col. I have. [Dryly.] 

Lys. Why, his name is Hopkinson. 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 4J 

Col. Hopkinson? Did you say H(>i)h'in>inn / [ Aside. \ I've 
got him at last ! [(jlcefuUy.] 

Lys. ^'es, sir. H-o-p-k-i-n-s-o-n. 

C.>1. That isn't the name you gave me before, sir. \lSerereli/,] 

Lys. Ha, hj',lia! I beg your pardon, sir. Ha, ha, ha! [Aside.] 
What the deuce name did I give him? Ha, ha, ha! [Very forced 
l(tng/i.] 

Va)\, What are you laughing at? 

Lys. At your not allowing me to know the name of my own 
father-in-law. 

Col. I can't help it, sir. That wasn't the name you gave me 
before. It sounded more like monkey wrench — or mockery — or 
mock-^ mock something. 

Lys. Oh — Mockridge— of course— the Honorable Hopkinson 
Mockridge. I thought you asked for his given name. 

Col. [A^/.srs.] You are the champion, sir; but enough of this. 
Miss Mayflower has told me of your confession that Martha Mock- 
ridge is a myth. 

Lys. [Rises. Aside.] Here comes that silver dollar to buy a 
rope ! 

Col. [Goes c] How dare you call yourself a gentleman — .you 
whose life has been one contmual scene of fraud and falsity? You, 
who have not spared me, your benefactor, from your infamous 
deceptions? [Both hands in pants j)Ockets, legs spread apart, 
facing Lys.] 

Lys. Hear me, sir, I entreat — 

Col. To be again imposed upon? No sir — my eyes are opened 
at last, [Goes a little r.] 

Lys. [Folloiving him^appealiiigly.] By all that's sacred, sir! 

Col. [r. c] I'm deaf to your fictions from this time on. 

Lys, [c] This is the truth. The Mount Vernon affair is all 
a fable. 

Col. And how dare you— 

Lys. Just one minute. Before you insisted upon my courting 
Miss Goldengate, I met a lady — 

Col. Stop! Stop! Another trumped up woman and fabulous 
wedding. [Putting hands over ears and going up. Turns.] Do 
you take me for a fool? 

Lys. This lady is not trumped up nor has the marriage taken 
phice. 

Col. Her name ? 

Lys. Prudence Mayflower and I love her to distraction. [Goes 

L. C] 

Col. What right have you to love anybody without my con 
sent? Besides, she chews gum- 



i2 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Lys. [Turtiiny.] Well, I choose her. 

Col. Have you spoken to her? [Comes down c.J 

Lys. I only parted with her ten minutes ago and returned by 
her invitation. 

Col. You won't stick to her. 

Lys. I will, like mucilage. 

Col. Very well, sir. I'm an old friend of the Maytlower family 
and I'll investigate this latest shift in the cut; but if I catch you 
in the smallest falsehood or the least duplicity I'm done with you 
forever. [Goes k.J 

Lys. I should deserve nothing better, 

Col. Wait for me here. 

Lys. I have one other confession to make- 
Col. What— more deception? [Ret urn iny a few steps. \ 

Lys. [r. c] No— only suppression. I intend to make a clean 
breast of everything, ask your forgiveness and stick to the truth, 
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me Bob, for- 
ever more, amen. [Baisiny k. hand.] 

Col. [c. Aside.] Hell is paved with good intentions. [Aloud.\ 
Out with it! 

Lys. Six months ago I married a widow with $250,000. 

Col. [Goiny k. with hands over ears.] Enough! Enough! 
[Tunis.] You need & keejjer ! 

Lys. This is the solemn, bitter truth. From the bottom of my 
heart I wish it was only a bad dream. She concealed the fact 
that she had an incumbrance until after our marriage, and when 
she died, two months later, I found that the entire property re- 
verted to my step-daughter. 

Col. Then you are a widower? [Suspiciously.] 

Lys* [c] Thank heaven, I am! [Piously.] 

Col, Encumbered with a step-daughter? [WitJi liorror.] 

Lys. Heaven help me, yes. [Despairingly.] 

Col. That settles you with Prudence. I've heard her say a 
hundred times that she wouldn't marry a widower for a million, 
or a widower with a child for half the earth. 

Lys. My jjoor innocent child! I give you my sacred word, sir, 
that if you will use your influence to overcome Miss Mayflower's 
objections I will never again do a single thing to grieve you. 

Col. [Goes c.J That's a bargain. I'll give you one more 
chance, and one only. 

Lys. Uncle Dick, you are the most generous man on earth. 
[Iloldiny out Jiaud and Co], offers pocket book.] 

Col. I'm not doing thi.s for your wsake, but because Prudence 
may have had the bad taste to fall in love with you. I'll go and 
see. [Ex. r. door.] 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 43 

Lys. Every obstacle is removed but one my precious step- 
child. I'll ship her to Australia or send her to Japan as a mission- 
ary in the morning. Anything to prevent her bobbing up again 
to ruin everything. 

[I'luU-r Baby c] 

Baby. Papa. 

Lys. My hideous fate pursues me still! [Tlinnvs himself on 
lounge.] 

Baby. [Conung down, c] I've been searching for you every- 
where, papa. Look at that. [Opens paekage.] Thirteen cigar 
l>utt8. It's an outrage. 

Lys. Go home. 

Baby. I shan't go home to a balcony all strewn with tilth y, 
nasty, reeking cigar stumps. It's disgusting! 

Lys. How dare you dog my footsteps? Cigar stumps! Bosli! 
You've been spying. 

Baby, [c] Yes, I /mrt;, and I've found out your little game. 
You want to put another woman n\ the place of my dear mama, 
but you shan't do it. No, sir! You don't marry again until I'm 
provided with a husband. [Goes up o little.] 

Lys. [Rises and points a^.] Go home, Miss. I command you. 

Baby. [Turning] Command me! I like your nerve. [Comes 
do ten c] 

Lys. What do you mean to do? 

Baby. Introduce myself to my new mama as her little daugh- 
ter. 

Lys. Go home! [In stern couiiuaud, /jointing c] 

Baby. I shan't! This is a public parlor and I have as much 
right here as you have. 

Lys. [Aside.] I've got to square her. [Aloud] My love, do 
you really want a husband? 

Baby. Do I really want a husband ! Have I done a thing ex- 
cept chase men and try to capture one in the last thirty years? 

Ly.s. What kind of a husband would you prefer, my love? 

Baby. [Goes bashfuUi/ r. and sits i.. of table.] Well, papa, 
my taste has always run toward a nice, meek little husband— one 
I could train to obey my every whim and all that sort of thing. 
But, of course, under the circumstances I can't afford to be any 
too particular. 

Lys. [c] You can't, indeed! With your future waltzing 
away off into your past at the rate of 305 and a quarter days every 
year, you haven't timel 

Baby. You are trying to insult me but thank heaven I inherit- 
ed a sweetly serene temper from my own dear papa. 



11 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Ly.s. If that's wheie you got it, I'm glad I never had to hve 
with the old gentleman. [Goes a little l..] Now listen. I'll make 
a contract with you. If you'll go home immediately and keep the 
fact that you are my daughter discreetly hidden until I give you 
leave to reveal it, I'll get you a husband. 

Baby. A real, nice, meek, little husband, papa? 

Ly.s. If one of that brand is to be had. At any rate a r^uitable 
husband. 

Baby. How soon? 

Lys. Within a month. 

Baby. That's wasting time. Within a week. 

Lys. [-4sid(^] I'm desperate. [Aloud.] I'll do it. 

Baby, [/^/se.s.] It's a contract. But if you break your word, 
papa dear, you know me. 

Lys. Oh yes— I know you my angel child— good night. [War- 
in g her up o.\ 

Baby. Kiss me good night, papa. [Goes to him iniucingh/, 
holdivg up Tier face.] 

Ly.s. [Kisses her.] Good night— oh, get out. [Turning away 
ill disgust.] 

Baby, [c] Get a move on yourself, papa, for you've got to 
luistle this week. Ha, ha, ha! [E.r. c] 

Lys. Reason begins to totter upon her throne. Let her tot. 
Ha,*ha, ha! I'm going mad— mad — mad! Find a husband for hrr 
within a week? Nobody but a madman would attempt it! 
[Enter Col. r. door.] 

Col. Well, sir, much to my surprise, I find that you have told 
the truth at last and that Prudence will accept you in spite of 
your incumbrance. 

Lys. [c] She will! Say -let's call a preacher and get mar- 
ried to-night. 

CoL [r. c] Don't talk foolishness. She has so far revised her 
former opinions that she is prepared to love your little Tootsy- 
wootsy for your sake. 

Lys. She will, she ivill.' She couldn't Jtelp loving her! 

Col. [02Je}Liiig 'R. door.] Come Prudence. Your luck is some- 
thing phenomenal, sir. 

[Enter Priid. k. door.] 

Lys. [Seeing Prud. With a groan.] It is! [Falls back L..J 

Col. [Leading Prud, c. to Lys.] If he is not sensible of the 
favor you do him in accepting a widower with an encumbrance 
I'll disown him. There, my boy, take her and make her happy. 

Lys. [l,.] Take her? [^48/c?e.] I'll take castor oil first. 

Col. She is more than you deserve, I know, but let your future 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 45 

j?ood behavior testify your gratitude. 

Lys. Uncle — I — I — 

Col. [r. c] Now, then, don't stand there Hke a petrified puppy 
—make your acknowledgments to the lady. 

Lys. To thai liidy? 

Col. To be Bure— to Miss Prudence Mayflower. 

Lys. That lady Mis^ Mayflower? 

Col. No more trilling, sir. Recollect that 1 make my will to- 
morrow. Take her hand this minute or suffer the consequences. 

Lys. [i.. Aside.] Just as I feared. I hai^e become insane and 
this is one of my delusions. [TaJxes her hcfnd as Trun, infers c 
and Nell, enters R. door disgnised.] 

Col. [c. and behind them,] Bless you, my children. 

Nell. [Doum r. c. Accusingly in tragic tones.] False, per- 
jured wretch! Thank heaven I have arrived in time to prevent 
you from blasting another life. Monster! [Crosses i..] 

Lys. What do you mean? [Prud.r/oe.s r.] 

Nell. Cruel, cruel man! But we shall never part again. 
{Clinging to him.[ 

Lys. [l. c] The deuce we shan't! [Repnlsing her. Fran. 
drops dorm r. corner.] 

Nell, [l.] Not one kind look, not one tender word to gre.-t 
iiie? Oh this is cruel, cruel! [Doiv7i to i^. corner.] 

Lys. What the deuce /s all this? Are ?/o« mad? Ami mad'; 
A re we all mad? Is this a lunatic asylum? 

Nell. This is my reward for weary months of suffering and 
sorrow— you pretend you do not even know the woman whom you 
swore at the altar to love, cherish and protect! 

Col. [c.) Madame, you seem to know this gentleman. 

Nell. Only too well!' 

Col. His name? 

Nell. Lysander Lyon. 

Col. And yours? 

Nell. Martha Lyon, his lawful wife. 

Lys. [l. c] Uncle, so help me— [Puts up right hand.] 

Col. [c. Pidls doivn his hand] Don't perjure yourself, sir! 
One question more— your maiden name? 

Nell. Mockridge— Martha Mockridge. 

Col. Of Posey county, Indiana? 

Nell. Yes sir. 

Col. Wretch! 

Lys. I swear by all that's— 

Col. Measureless, boundless, endless liar! 

Lys. You refuse to listen to me— at least hear Don Francisco. 



46 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Fran. [r. corner.] No you don't. You can't drag me into your 
scrape. I'm no Brazilian nobleman and you know it. You hired 
me in New York three days ago and I'm your valet. 

Omnes. His valet! 

Prml, [r.] Deceiver! 

Nell, [r..] Impostor! 

Col« [k. c] Liar! 

Lys. [Taking c] 1 will be heard! No matter what romanc- 
ing I may have been guilty of in the past, this woman is not my 
wife„ The only wife I ever had has been dead four months and I 
helped to plant her. As for you, I don't know whether you are 
Miss Mayflower or not, but I solemnly declare that until my un- 
cle forced me to betroth myself to you I never set eyes on you in 
all my life. 

Col. Didn't I plead with her at your own request? [Pointing 



you write a letter? [Pointing finger at 



(it Lys. 
Lys. 
PriKl. 


1 
No! 

, [R.] 


Didn't } 


Lys. 

Nell. 

Lys. 
Frau. 


[C] 
[I..J 

No! 

[L.] 


No! 
Am not I 

Didn't y 



your wife? [Pointing Jinger at Lys. 

you instruct me to back up your lies? 
[Pointing finger at Lys.] 

Col. [r. c] Didn't you tell me the story of your marriage? 
[Pointing finger at Lys. 

Lys. Yes — no — no! [All continue pointing.] 

Nell. Listen to me. [Slajyping hands together. All stop 
2)ointing.] 

Lys. No! 

CoL Haven't I— [Slapping hands together.] 

Lys. No! No! No! No! FowVe crazy, sTie's crazy, you're a// 
crazy, and if I stop here another minute I'll catch the infection. 
[Pushes to door r. Derb. entei^s and stops him.] 

Derb. No you don't, by Jove! [Lys. rushes across l. hut Nell. 
stops him.] 

Nell. [Taking off hat and veil.] Ha, ha, ha! 

Omues. Ha, ha, ha! [Baby and Kitty appear c. for tableax.] 

Lys. Miss Mayflower ! 

Nell. [Crossing toe] No — Miss Goldengate— the California 
terror who whistles through her teeth, carries a gun and swears 
in Spanish — all at your service. [Curtseys.] 



A MODEHN ANANIAS. 47 



Baby, Kitty. 
Derby. 



Colonel. 
Prudence, 



Nellie. 
Francisco. Lysander. 

Curtain. 

[Distribution of characters at end of act.] 



ACT 111. 



[Sitting room at Arli I iy ton Villa. Arch c. Flat in 3d Grooves 
Doors L. 1 E., L. 2 E., R. 2 e. in box. Balustrade back of arch 
and sea horizon backing. Table with newspaper on it and two 
chairs down l. c. Sofa k. Sideboard across l. upper corner 
with decanter, water, glasses, etc. Chairs r. and i.. of arch. 
Small stand r. against box. Chair l. against box. Carpet doum ; 
nigs, bric-a-brac, etc. At rise Kitty ivith broom and Fran, in 
livery disc, up stage beside arch. 



Kitty. Well, did you ever, Francisco? I don't do a thing all 
day but sweep off the cigar stumps thrown down by that little 
dude up stairs. 

Fran. He's no man at all or he'd show himself when I')ii 
around. 

Kitty. Look, will you — three — five— ten — fourteen cigar ends. 
[Shoivs them in dust pan.] I like work. I'm much obliged to 
him. [Looks up and calls.] I like cleaning up other peoples' 
dirt, I don't think. 

Baby. [Without; calling. ] Fran— cis— co! 



4S A MODERX ANANIAS. 

Fran. There she is— confound lier. [CdUing.] Yes, Miss— 
coming. [KissesKittj. Ex. n. Kiitj squeals.] 

Lys. [Entering door r.] What the deuce is all this noise? 
What are you squealing about, Kitty? I want you to put an end 
to it at once. 

Kitty. I don't have to put an end to it. There are fourteen 
ends to it already and it isn't ten o'clock yet. Look! [Shoics 
atumps.] 

Lys. Who the deuce is the fellow? What does he look like? 

Kitty. He's a little, sawed-off, pushed down imitation of a man 
and dresses like a dude. 

Lys. I'll fix him. I'll punch his head. [Goes on balcony and 
calls.] Hello, you! Hello there! Johnny Smoker— hello! 

Derb. [Above and out of sight.] Do you take me for a tele- 
phone? What do you mean by hello? 

Lys. What do I mean by hello! He's an idiot! I'll tell you 
what I mean, sir. You have a disgusting habit of throwing your 
snipes on my balcony. 

Derb. And why shouldn't I? 

Lys. Because it's a filthy habit and I don't like it. Can't you 
throw them into the street? 

Derb. And have them fall on people's heads? Not much! It's 
against the ordinances, don't you know\ 

Lys. You don't seem to care whether they fall on my head or 
not. 

Derb. Oh, there's nothing in that, don't you know ! 

Lys. There isn't, eh? My head's as good as yours. I'd like 
to feel your bumps for about a minute— and let you feel mine. 
[Strikes jmgilistic attitvde.] Why don't you show yourself? 
[Looking up.] 

Derb. Oh, go to bed. You're dreaming. 

Lys. You're a 7iice young man ! I'd like to meet you — in a 
quiet, retired spot, all alone. [Reenters through arch.] 

Derb. Oh — have a smoke! [Lighted cigar stump falls on 
balcony.] 

Kitty, That's fifteen! [Picks it up.] 

Lys. I'll put a stop to this business. Pick up all those snipes, 
Kitty, and wrap them in papei-. [Calls.] Hello, you, up there. 
[Going out.] I'm going straight to the police station with your 
filthy snipes and my hired girl as witnesses. 

Derb Oh, go to thunder! 

Lys. He's an anarchist. He isn't afraid of the law. [Reenters 
ri>oni.] 

Kitty. [Looks up.] Here he is— quick. 

Lys. [Rushing out.] I'll have the law on him! 



A MODKl^N ANANIAS. 49 

Kitty. Too late — he's gone again. 

Lys. That shows he's an anarchist — he's so scared of the law. 
You needn't mind those snipes, Kitty — throw them out. I've 
changed my mind. [Comes doirn c] 
Kitty, [Aside.] Barking dogs never bite. [Ex. r. u. e.] 
Lys. [Sits down and picks up paper.] I wonder whether they 
put in that paragraph I sent them? Yes — here it is. [Reads.] 
"It is rumored that Dr. LysanderLyon, nephew of Col. Lyon, the 
California millionaire, is soon to wed Miss Nellie Goldengate of 
San Francisco. The bride elect is one of the wealtliiest heiresses 
of Newport's season." Pleasant news for Dash wood, poor devil. 
He has lost his government Job and hasn't a cent. [Bells rings 
ofL..] Hello! there's the bell and Kitty has gone to throw out 
those confounded snipes. [Opens door -l.Ie. Enter Col. and 
Nell.] 

Col. Aha, my boy, wo'vo found you at last. 

Lys. [Aside.] Oh, Lord I thought I was safe! [Aloud.] Sit 
down here, dear. Uncle, you are old enough to find a chair for 
yourself. [Conducting Nell, to sofa.] 

Nell. Whfit a pretty view you have of the sea. 

Col. Very pleasant quarters — for a bachelor on flOOO a year. 
I don't see how be does it. [Sits in arm chair r. of table.] 

Lys. [k. c. Aside.] If Baby comes back before they go I'm 
done for! [All through the scene he is nervonsly iratching doors 
L, iK.and c] You are out early, uncle. 

Col. Yes. I had a bad night. You know how sick I was yes- 
terday? 

Lys. Indeed, no! [Crosses \u. and sits beside table.] 

Col. Yes you do— that feeling of fullness after eating—all down 
here and — 

Lys. Yes, yes— so much the better. [Aside.] Where the 
thunder is Kitty? 

Col. So much the better? 

Lys. No, no — I said you are so much better. 

Col. On the contrary, I am much worse. 

Lys. Then so much the worse. [Aside.] If I could only give 
Kitty a tip to warn her off! 

Col. This thing is serious. Every time I eat, and indeed, I 
may say even when I don't eat, I feel a sort of a, kind of a all 
down here, and then all through there— a kind of a— 

Lys. What? 

Col. That's the point— what? I don't know, Nell doesn't 
know, and no more does Dr. Briggs. 

Lys. Well, I'll take my oath 7 don't. 



50 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Col. We are on our way to the specialist's office and thought 
we'd pop in on you to have a look at the baby. Nell is just dy- 
ing to see the dear little Tootsy wootsey. 

Lys. [Aside.] She'll fall dead when she does. 

Nelli I fairly dote on children, especially little girls. 

Lys. So do I! 

Nell. Where is the little pet? Can we see her? 

Lys, Not for the world! She's having her morning nap. 

Col. I say, Sandy — is she — is she weaned? [Nell, very much 
enLbarrassea] 

Lys. [Aside.] Rather— about the year 1847! [Aloud.] Oh. 
yes— she's weaned — very nearly. 

Nell. Has she any teeth? 

Lys Yes, she has some teeth. [Aside.] On a gold plate. 

Nell. How many? 

Lys. Eighteen hundred and forty-seven. 

Nell. What! 

Lys. No — no — I was thinking of something else. 

Col. I was just thinking, she must have got about all of them. 

Nell, How absurd! Ha, ha! Now Fm to have the first kiss 
when she wakes up. 

Lys. Of course you shall, dear. [Aside.] And I hope you'Jl 
enjoy it! 

Nell. I've brought her the cutest little hood, all trimmed with 
lace. See! [Shows it.] 

Lys. Lovely! She'll look like an angel in it! 

Col. And I've brought her a jumping jack— such a gay- 
colored fellow, to be her little husband. [Shoivs parcel. Puts 
hack in pocket.] 

Lys. The very thing. She'll be delighted with a little hus- 
band. [Aside.] Even if he is a gay colored fellow. 

Col You don't think the toy is too old for her? 

Lys. Oh, you don't need to be afraid of that. [Aside.] Too 
old for her ! 

CoL [Rises.] But come, Sandy; where is all your politeness": 
I'm getting hungry and we'd like to wash our hands before lunch, 
you know. 

Lys. [Rises.] How thoughtless of me! Nellie, would you 
mind using this room? [Hands her to door l. Aside.] Where 
the dickens is Kitty? Gossiping with the other servant girls, I 
suppose. 

Nell. [At door L,.1 K.] Now mind you let me know the ver} 
moment dear little Tootsy wootsey wakens. 

Lys. Oh, of course. I only hope you'll be as pleased with her 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 51 

as you anticipate. [Ex. nntk Nell. <U>oi- r>. '1 e.] 

Col. Trust a girl for making an opportunity to spoon. Well, 
["11 smoke a cigar just to give them a chance. [Lights cif/ar and 

sits I.. i)ll S(>J'((.] 

I KHterH'Ahy and Fran, rarrt/ing potted f lowers dohr l. 1 e. Baby 

is reiled.\ 

Baby. Now, then, stupid -do you want to smash the pots? 
What makes you so awkward? 

Fran. If you nag at me much more, I will smash them. You've 
kept it up ever since we left the florist's! This isn't my job, any- 
way. 

Baby. Hold your tongue." [Sidfs, smelliitg smoke.] Oh there's 
a strange man. [Boirs.] 

Col, Dr. Lyon will be here in a moment, madam. Won't you 
excuse my cigar and sit down? [Points to chair r. of table.] 

Baby. To whom have I the honor ? 

Col. I am Dr. Lyon's uncle -Richard Lyon. 

Baby. Oh! 

Col. Allow me to offer you a chair. [Places the chair.] I'll 
call my nephew. [Calls.] Lysander -Sandy— a lady to see you. 
{Sits on sofa.] 

Baby. [Aside.] That's pretty cool, too. [Aloud. Taking off 

I I at and veil.] Francisco, carry those flowers to my room. 

Fran. [Down l. near door.] Yes, ma'am. [Aside.] The old 
man doesn't know me in this rig. [E.v. door l. 2 e. | 

Col. [Aside.] Francisco! Her room — the devil! It's his 
mother! [Puts on glasses.] By the living jingo! She's not at all 
a bad looking woman. Remarkably well preserved. 
Enter Lys. door l. 2 e.] 

Lys. [Crossing down n.] Did you call me, uncle? [Aside] 
Baby! I must get him out of the way or the jig is up! [Aloud. \ 
Won't you go and wash your hands, sir? 

Col. Yes — in a minute — you don't object to smoke, I hope, 
madam? 

Baby. Not at all, sir. [To Lys.] See— I've got my dahlias 
and a couple of pots of — 

Lys. [r. c] That's right- -there's nothing I'm so fond of as 
Imttercups and daisies. [Aside.] Why won't she go away? 

Baby. Daisies? I said dahlias. [Arranging flowers.] 

Lys. So did I. Daisies— what an absurdity! I said gutter- 
pups and dahlias. [Aside.] I'm so rattled I don't know what I 
am saying, [r.] 

Col. [Aside.] What a nice looking woman your mother is in 
spite of all she has gone through. So well preserved. 



52 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Lys. [Aside.] Yes — in alcohol- I mean in oil — no, no — I mean 
she is, yes. 

Col. She looks remarkably fresh. 

Lys. And she's fresher than she looks, a darn sight. 

Col. [Rising, confidentially.] She hasn't forgiven me yet. 
She was as stiff as a poker the minute she recognized me. 

Lys. You can hardly wonder at that. 

Col. How very like her you are. You've got her nose and 
mouth, yes and her eyes. 

Lys. [Aside.] I wish I had her neck. I'd break it. 

Col. And you have her expression. 

Lys. [Aside.] I wonder if there is any Paris green in the 
house? 

Col. But really, it seems almost impossible that you should be 
lier son. 

Lys. I tind it hard to believe it myself. [Crosses l. Aside i<> 
Baby.] Clo to your room! 

Baby. [Aside.] I shan't. Introduce me to your uncle over 
again. 

Lys. What for? 

Baby. Because yesterday in your excitement you said "moth- 
er'' instead of "daughter." 

Lys. I explained that fully when I saw him later last night. 

Baby, [Rises.] Introduce me properly or I'll make a scene, 
contract or no contract. 

Lys. [r. c. Aside.] There's a deadly glitter in her eye. She 
means it. [Aloud.] This is my Uncle Richard, you know, dear. 
He has been very kind to me and I want you both to forget the 
past and be good friends for my sake. [Aside.] Now go to your 
room. [Hands Coh from r. to l. and pushes Baby towards door 



'> 



but she passes behind him r.] 



Col. Delighted, I'm sure, madam, to [Not finding her l. 

crosses behind Lys. r., irho passes Baby l. in front of him.] 

Baby. [ij. c. Aside to hya,] Madam! He still takes me for 
your mother. 

Lys. [c. Aside.] Remember our contract. Not a hint of 
who you are. 

Col. [r. o.] I've brought some playthings for little Tootsy- 
wootsey. 

Baby. Playthings for little Tootsy wootsey! 

Lys. Yes, dear — Tootsywootsey. It's a Californian expression 
of Spanish origin. [Aside.] Go to your room ! 

Col. Brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, the world over, have 

the privilege of shaking hands, and [Offers hand to Baby. 

Lys. takes it.] 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 53 

Baby* What does he mean? 

Lys. That's an old Spanish proverb comiiion in CaUfornia. In 
Spain brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law htwe that privilege. 
[Aside.] Go to your room or you don't Ljet that hiiaband.] 

Baby. You brute! [Bows stiffly to CoL (tiid ex, door r.. 2 e.] 

Col. [r.] a fine woman, though a little eccentric. Does she 
like cribbage? 

Lys. Like it? It's almost a vice with her. I've even heard 
her murmur "two for his nobs" in her sleep. [Aside.] She was 
alluding to me! [Droj)s into chair k. of table.] 

Col- By the living jingo! If she were not m.y brother's widow — 

Lys. Take her to the Sandwich Islands — it doesn't matter 
there. 

Col. And to think I've hated her for thirty years! Well, I'd 
l:)etter get brushed up for lunch and then be off to see Dr. Soak- 
em about my case. Just think, my boy — whenever I eat — 

Lys. Exactly. Oh, it's very serious. 

Col, Isn't it? I'm getting quite uneasy about it. [6ro(^s' (o n. 
door.] Shall I wash in here? 

Lys. Yes, that's the door. 

Col. Tell your mother that I'll tell her all about my cane over 
a game of cribbage. 

Lys. Yes do — tell her all your symptoms. She'll be delighted 
and tell you all Iter's. 

Col. I will. [Ex. R. door.] 

Lys. How is this to end? Nellie will insist on seeing the baby, 
and when 1 pop into her arms that tender little suckling in its 
forty-seventh year— bang! Away she goes! [Cigar stump throicii 
on balcony.] Cuss that fellow! [Rushes out and looks up.] You 
keep out of sight, you're wise! See here, you sir, how many more 
snipes are you going to throw on my balcony ? 

Derb. I'm no prophet, don't you know. 

Lys. What business have you to throw your refuse down here? 

Derb. What business has your balcony under my window? 

Lys. I'd like to get you stuffed and put in a glase case as the 
champion American hog. You're next door to a fool. [Reenter- 
ing.] 

Derb. I tumbled to that fact the very day you moved in, don't 
you know. 

Lys. I'd like to soak you once— just once! {Coming down.] 
Oh for a lingering and terrible revenge— an inspiration. I've got 
him! Within six days I've got to tind a nice, meek little husband 
for Baby. He shall be the victim! [Goes up. Calls.] Oh, cap- 
tain — major judge doctor— whatever your title is. 



54 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Deri). What's the trouble, have you *,'ot another worm? 

Lys. No, no!— it's all right row. Just step down stairs for five 
minutes to see me. 

Derb. See you? I don't mind calling — from here, don't you 
know. What have you got? Stuffed club flush, a pair of dogs, or 
four of a kind in bullets? 

Lys. Neither. But I have a business proposition with lots of 
money in it for you. 

Derb. Wait a minute till I get my revolver. 

Lys. Oh, you won't need a gun. I'm peaceable, \C<)ntes 
down.] That was a stroke of genius. If the fellow happens to 
be poor he'll be glad to get -f 250,000, no matter what sort of a dose 
he may have to take on the side. My happiness would be oom- 
])lete if he would take her for a wedding tour around the world 
in eighty years. [Doirii c] 

[Derb. eKters door l. 1 e. | 

Derb. [At door, pointing revolver.] Throw up your hands. 

Lys. [Holding up hands] Dash wood! The dickens! Lower 
that gun. 

Derb. Oh no, dear boy ! I've called and insist upon seeing 
what you've got. [Feels Lys. for iveapons.X It's all right now. 
Drop your hands. [Puts gun in pocket.] Now what's your 
scheme? No fiction, mind. 

Lys. I understand that you've been let outat W^ashington. 

Derb. Yes — I'm a republican and had to walk the plank, don't 
you know. 

Lys. How are you fixed? 

Derb. About |10,000 in debt, dear boy. 

Lys. Good ! 

Derb. Yes, deuced good ! 

Lys. Any prospects? 

Derb. I had until you turned up. Nellie Goldengate. 

Lys. Oh— so she was N. G. Ha, ha, ha! Then that accounts 
for the snipes! In your despair you are trying to suicide by smok- 
ing yourself to death. 

Derb. Oh no, by Jove. You annoyed me by blighting n)y 
prospects and I was trying to play even. I did think of switch 
irg to the chewing gum girl but I can't get up the nerve. 

Lys, She's chilly, anyway. Sit down. [Derb. .s?"f.sR. avit/ Lys. 
L. o/ table.] 

Derb. Yes, awfully. Meantime I just sit in my window .-ind 
watch for Mamey. 

Lys. Mamey? 

Derb. The statuesque blonde in the cafe, don't you know. On 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 55 

the dead quiet, old man, she's my ideal. 

Lys. Hush — as the father of a family I can't listen to any such 
confidences. 

Derb. I say, old chcij^pie, tiction, you know! You're beginning 
it again. Father of a family, don't you know! 

Lys. That's fact, not liction. I wish it was. Now, would 
.$'250,000 be any object to you? 

Deri). Don't talk stuff. 

Lys, But I am talking stuff two hundred and iifty thousand 
of long green stuff. Now, as you happen to be an old friend of 
mine I'll put you in the way of getting it — by the way, [Rising.] 
I have some ten-year old hand-made sour mash, as mild as milk, 
and as strong as mustard. [Gets decanter, etc.] 

Derb. That's my poison — I'm desperate. [Lys. hrings down 
liquor on tray.] 

Lys. [Pouring liquor.] Try a nip. 

Derb. Nip? Give me a whole pony. I feel real devilish. 

Lys. Try that. Here's looking at you. [Drinks.] 

Derb. [Gulps liquor. It burns Mm.] Oh, I say— my throat, 
oh, by Jove! 

Lys. Good, isn't it? [/6'/t«.] 

Derb. Yes— awfully. [Choking.] 

Lys. Have another. [Pours.] 

Derb. Not on your life, dear boy. Now about this .$250,000. 
[Lights cigar.] 

Lys. I have a wife for you. 

Derb. The deuce you have ! 

Lys. Charming woman — refined, accomplished, draws, sings, 
plays 

Derb. Excuse me, old man. [Rising.] I must be going, 
really 



Lys. She has $250,000 of her own 

Derb. Fairy tales— I know you too well, dear boy. 

Lys. I'll give you proof positive in a minute. Here, have 

another nip, it'll do you good. [Pours liquor.] 
Derb. Here's ago at the $250,000 girl. [Drinks.] 
Lys. You can marry her in three days without any trouble. 
Derb. That settles Mamey - her eye is out and — [Sits down.] 
Lys. Hush — as the father of a family, you know — 
Derb. That's twice you've sprung that. Explain — what father? 

Whose family? 
Lys. You'll know in a nnnute. Of course with $250,000 you 

don't expect a Lillian Russell. 
Derb. Well, of course— I don't vou know — 



56 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Lys. Of course not. You're a sensible man. [Aside.] Hrain- 
lessninkurapoop! [Aloud.] And you wouldn't look for sweet 
sixteen— this girl is of age and can do what she likes with her 
money. 

Derb. Oh, I say — you want to steer me up against some in- 
fernal old hen. * 

Lys. Not at all. 

Deri). Describe her, dear boy. 

Lys. A Greek profile— ail intellect— and an expression worth — 
8250,000. 

Derb. Expression is everything, after all, dear boy. Who is 
the lady? [Helps himself to liquor ad. lib.] 

Lys. My daughter. 

Derb. [Almost dropping decanter.] What? I thought you'd 
given up lying! 

Lys. I have. To be strictly accurate I should have said my 
step-daughter. I'm a widower. 

Derb. She must be awfully young to marry, don't you know. 

Lys. Oh no she isn't — not very mucJi too young. 

Derb. I'd like to see the little thing. 

Lys. Well, she isn't exactly little, either. 

Derb. Good — here's to her. I admire big women. [Drinks.] 
Why, Mamey is five feet eleven without her — 

Lys. Hush! As the father of a family — 

Derb. Eh? Oh! Exactly! Well, you otfer me .$250,000 and a 
young girl. 

Lys. I didn't say a young girl — I said my step-daughter. Let 
us be accurate, for I am very tender of my reputation as a truth- 
ful man. 

Derb. I say, old chappie, you have reformed, haven't you? Any- 
way, if she's your step-daughter she can't be very old. 

Lys. [Going up. Patting away decanter, etc. Aside.] Oh, 
can^t she! 

Derb. Trot her out and let's look at her. [Rising and going 
up.] 

Lys. Sure thing — only throw away that cigar, won't you? 

Derb. What for? ^ 

Lys. Oh, a first interview% you know— it would hardly do. % 

Derb. Then there it goes. [Throws cigar.] 

Lys. That's right — keep it up. My balcony's used to it. 
[Drawing him doicn stage.] 

Derb. Mamey doesn't mind a little smoke. 

Lys. Hush — as the father of a family — 

Derb. That's all right, old man, but Mamey's a mighty fine 



' A MODERN ANANIAS. 57 

girl and I'm stuck on her, [E.r. Ljs, door WIe.] You never 
saw such hair, such eyes, such a form— Mamey's all right. [Looks 
iiroiDul. Jiiio.vicated.] Wliy, he's gone—good stuff, that sour mash 
I'll hit it again. [Beginn to wabble up stage as Lys. reenter s 
in't/i li Ah}'.] I guess I won't -I've had enough. [Wheels around 
(iiid comes doion \i.} 

Lys. [Aside to Baby.) Now cast down your eyes and keep your 
profile turned to him. You gain fifty per cent, by being seen in 
profile. He'll only see half of her. [Crossing with her down v,.] 

Oorb. [Very tvhobbly.] Derby, old chappie, brace up. [With 
hack to Ly.s.] 

Lys. [Plaees her c. and goes r. c. Aside.] HeUl pull that gun 
on me when he sees her. 

Derb [Aside.] I'm almost too full to face the poor innocent 
young thing. fAS'ce.s her and staggers back.] Am I only full or 
have I got the jim jams? 

Lys. Allow me to introduce you to my daughter— Miss Baby. 
Mr. Dash wood, my dear. [No matter irhere Berb. goes Baby al- 
ways remains c. arid keeps her side view turned to him.] 

Derb. [Aside.] You must have been married at two years old. 

Lys. I icas quite young. 

Berb. But — but she's older than you are. 

Lys. Never mind her age. She has $250,000 and if you want to 
help her spend it, wire in. 

Derb. I will— but I wish I'd got that other drink. [Crosses 
i'. to Baby.] x\llow me to express and — believe me sincere in say- 
ing, don't you know, it is impossible— [Aside.] Oh, it is im- 
possible. [Crosses r. to Lys.] I can't do it. She's too much for 
me. 

Baby. [Aside.] Sweet little man — how agitated he seems. 

Lys. [Goes to her c] Baby, the solemn moment has at length 
arrived when I must prepare myself to j)art with you and assist 
in establishing you in life. [Aside.] Turn your profile. 

Derb. [r.] That moment is forty years late, by Jove! 

Lys. Mr. Derby Dash wood, ninth assistant something or other 
at Washington, can no longer conceal the love which you have in- 
spired. 

Derb. [Crosses to him and pulls hi uin.\ Hold on — hold on I 
say 1 [Aside tvith Lys.] 

Baby. [c. aside.] Ninth assistant something or other at 
Washington— how sweet. 

Derb. Upon my soul, old chappie— I am, dead broke but I 
wouldn't marry her for a million. 

Baby. [Aside to Lys.] What was that he said, papa? 



58 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Lys. [Crossing back to /ier.\ He was regretting his poverty 
and wishing for your sake that he was worth a million. 

Baby. How sweet to beloved for one's self alone. Oh, Mr. 
Dashwood, papa's wishes are my law. I accept. 

Lys. Lucky fellow! She accepts! [Dragging him to her.] 

Derb. [r.] Hold on— hold on— I say you must allow me, 
really — 

Lys. Oh, of course. Novv's your time — tackle her boldly. 
[Aside.] Oh, if I could only get another drink into him! [Aloud.] 
Remember, .$250,000. 

Deri). That's all right, but candidly, don't you know-how old 
is she? 

Lys. Two hundred and fifty thousand. 

Derb. She looks her age. No matter— I'll tackle herboldly. 
[Crosses to Baby.] Allow me to express and believe me sincere 
in saying — aw— aw— don't you know — my two hundred and fifty 
thousand— I never —excuse me— you have made a complete sour 
luash— aw— pardon me— [Crosses l.] I'm rattled— I can't do it— 
I must go and think it over. [Goes up.] 

Lys. [To Baby.] He's agitated, he doesn't know what he's 
saying. [Aside.] He's drunk as a fly. [Goes up to Derb.] What 
are you going to do? 

Derb. I'll— I'll play you a game of billiards —come on. [Pull- 
ing him c] 

Lys. [Aside.] If I leave him he's lost. [Aloud.] Of course I 
will — but you haven't said good bye to your intended. 

Derb. Oh, haven't I? That's a fact. [Coynes down a little to 
Baby.] My intended two hundred and— I mean, I've a good 
mind to— a— and yet I— adieu. [Kisses hand \to her. Aside.] 
It's no use— I can't do it, I really can't— come along. [Takes Lys. 
arm.] 

Lys. We'll be back directly, dear. [Rahy folloics kissing her 
hand to Derb.] Go to your room and stay there or you'll lose 
him. [E.v. with Derb. c] 

Baby. [Sits r. of table.] What a charming little man -and 
how^ he worships me! He became quite incoherent, but I under 
stood him. Oh, I'm just madly in love— our meeting was .so ro- 
mantic. 

[Enter Col. door r. crosses to door l. 2 e. and knocks.] 

Col. - Come along, Nellie— the little dear must be awake by this 
time. We'll show her the pretty things we've brought her. 

Nell. [Enfei-iit(f doni- I..1-E.] I've got my little hood. [They 
cross down k.] 

Baby. [Aside.] Papa's uncle. I thought he'd gone. But who 
is site. 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 59 

Col. [r. c. to Nell.J Lysaader's mother. She's a famous crib- 
l)age player, I'll introduce you. [Bo/rs.] Madam, allow me to 
present Miss Nellie Goldengate of California— his intended wi^e 
[Xell is II.] 

Baby, [AV^-e^ cnid hoir.s sti[flff.] Indeed, sir; whose intended 
wife? 

Col. Why, your son's, of course. 

Baby. My son's! [HoiTified and IndiyiKuit.] I have no son. 

Col. and Nell. No son! 

Baby. I'm an unmarried woman. 

Col. Unmarried! Another of his lies. Accept my sincere 
apologies. I am really mortified at my blunder. We thought 
you were the grandma. 

Baby. Grandma! Whose grandma I 

Col. Why, little Tootsy wootsey's to be sure. Is she awake 
yet? 

Ba by . Tootsy wootsey ? 

Col. Yes — the little girl — my nephew's child. 

Baby. Sir, I am your nephew's child. 

Nell. Good gracious! 

Col. What! You little Tootsy wootsey? Oh by .Jove, by Jup- 
iter, by jingo, by the lin'iig jingo! [Stamping with rage.] 

Nell. This simply out-herods Herod! I'll never forgive him 

never, never! [Sinks into chair.] 

Col. [Saddenltj c]iangrng.\ And I was going to give you this 
for a husband! [Junrping the toy, irhich he takes from pocket. 
Crosses l..] 

Nell. And I brought you this cute little — [Darigles hood.] 

Baby. Cute little what? Let's see it. 

Nell. Oh. it's nothing. [Pats it hastil/j in Iter jxM-ket. Sits 
on sofa.] 

Col. Didn't he introduce you to me yesterday as liis mother? 

Baby. Didn't he explain his slip of the tongue when he saw 
you later in the evening? 

Col. He did not. 

Baby. Cruel, cruel papa to treat me so! 

Col. [l.] Inveterate, chronic liar to treat us all so! 

Nell. Don't be too severe on the poor fellow. 

Col. Oho! So you are going to forgive him ! 

Nell. Never! 

Col. Neither will I. 

Nell. But it's your duty to forgive seventy times seven. 

Col. Not him— he's my nephew -not my brother. 

Baby. [Aside.] Heavens! I've broken my contract with 



60 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

papa! Oh my husband, my husband that was to be! 

Col, Well, I'll forgive hhn if you will. [Sits i.. <>f table. To 
Baby.] Let me see -what is our present relationship? Vou are 
my grand-niece by marriage and will soon be Nellie's daughter. 

Nell, [Rhlng excitedly.] Not if Nellie knows herself! 
[CroHscs to c] 

Col. Nonsense, my dear! You are going to marry her papa so 
I don't see how you can avoid becoming her mama. 

Nell, [v..] I her mama? Not in a thousand years! 

Baby. [Anide.] And this is all on my account! Boo hoo boo 
hoo —I've lost a husband and it's all my own fault. Boohoo, ijoo- 
hoo! [^.r. r.2e.] 

Col. She's crying. Poor girl. 

Nell. Girl? How soon do you expect her to bud into woman- 
hood? 

Col. Oh, she's not so old— rather advanced to be one's grand- 
niece, perhaps, but for all that a very charming* woman. {Looka 
at iratrh.\ But dear me, how late it'.s getting! There doesn't 
seem to be any immediate prospect of lunch so I'll be off to see 
my specialist, [i^/^e.s-.] 

Nell. I'll go with you. 

Col. No dear— you can't be present at my consultation, and 
it's only in the next block, anyway. Vou stop here and chat with 
your new daughter. 

Nell. New daughter! I tell you I'll never, never— 

Col. Don't be rash! You'll forgive him and she'll be your 
daughter sooner or later, so the sooner you make her acquaint- 
ance the better. 

Nell. Never! The idea of a daughter old enough to be my 
grandmother! [Siiil's into chair r. of table.] 

Col. Tut, tut, tut— just think over it. I'll be back soon. [Ex. 
door L. 1 E.] 

[Enter Lys. c] 

Lys, I can't bring that confounded idiot to the point. He's 
gone to get another drink and take ten minutes more to make up 
his mind. 

Nell. [Seeing him, rises.] Oh, so you have returned. 

Lys. [Coming doicn.] Yes, dear, here I am at last. I hope 
my absence hasn't. annoyed you? 

Nell, Oh no! I've had a real nice time! 

Lys. Tm glad of that. Don't you think I'm comfortably 
settled? 

Nell. You are settled — finally. 

Lys. Why, Nell— what's gone wrong? [Tries to put arm 
around her.] 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 61 

Nell. ['.'.1 Don't touch me, sir! I have just seen little Tootsy- 
woo tsey. 

Lys. [k. <'.| I am settled. [Aloud.] Little Tootsy wootsey 
—ha, ha, ha! 

Nell. You may think little Tootsy wootsey is funny, sir. I don't. 
and if y.ou imagine that I will submit to be called "mama" by an 
elderly lady like that you are greatly mistaken. 

Lys. I don't blame you -of course not. But it's all right- 
only wait a bit. I'll get rid of her. 

Nell. Get rid of her? 

Lys. Yes, yes- -it's all riglit, I tell yoii. I'm going to marry 
her off. 

Nell. So that her children may call me grandma! Never! 
[Goen up c] 

Lys. Worse and worse and more of it ! 

Nell. Dr. Lyon, I am very sorry, but under existing circum- 
stances our marriage is impossible. [Going l.J 

Lys. [Down R. c. Despaifiiigly.] But what can I do? 

Nell. 1 don't know. But I do know that no power on earth 
can induce me to marry you so long as that full sized freak of na- 
ture is galloping loose around the world. 

Lys. But I can't get her called in by act of congress. 

Nell. That is your business. Mine is to seek a change of 
s(;ene and try to forget the events of the past two days. 

Lys. [Going up to Jici-.] But Nellie, dear Nellie — you admit 
that it isn't my fault. 

Nell. No. It is our mutual misfortune. 

Lys. Then let us share it. 

Nell. Share A e^.^ Thank you. I know when I have enough! 
[Ex. door 1j. 2 e.] 

[Col. enters door l. 1 e.] 

€ol. Well, sir, what have you got to sav for yourself? [Cros.>ie.^, 
u.\ 

Lys, [Comes down c] I'm all broken up. Nellie has thrown 
me down. [Sits ii. of table.] 

Col. Serves you right. I thought you made a full confession 
last night and swore off lying. [Sits on sofa.] 

Lys. So I did. But I knew that if Nellie ever saw that frost 
bitten cyclone before our wedding it was all up between us. Vou 
seemed so anxious for our marriage and I was so eager lo obey 
your wishes that I determined to keep her supi)ressed if 1 could. 

Col. Your motives render your offense more tolerai)le, but 
you didn't figure close enough. You can't forsee such accidents, 

Lys. Your visit was an accident of course. It wasn't poor 



62 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

Baby's fault. She has her good points. 

Col. I should say so! She's a very superior woman and if she 
really had been your mother you might have been justly proud 
of her. 

Lys. lAside.] I might have been proud of her as a mother — 
why shouldn't I be proud of her as an aunt? There's a scheme 
for your life! 

Col, It's a lucky thing for you that I vented my rage on that 
scoundrelly specialist, and so hadn't steam enough left to blow 
you up. 

Lys. What has he done? 

Col. I never heard of a doctor doing such a thing before. 

Lys. You don't mean to tell me he has been curing somebody? 

Col. No— not that. He's gone and where do you think? 

Lys. ToDwight? 

Col. No sir! To Chicago to be treated by a specialist. A speci- 
alist sick himself! Did you ever hear of anything so utterly 
idiotic? Here have I come all the way from Frisco to look after 
liim and he's gone all the way to Chicago to look after himself. 

Lys. Shameful selfishness! But it gives me a chance to renew 
the offer of my services. 

CoL I'm afraid of experiments. 

Lys. I'm no experimentalist when it comes to treating mental 
maladies and intellectual disorders. 

Col. That's what mine is — an intellectual disorder. Imagine, 
now, whenever I eat— 

Lys. Show me your pulse. [Crosses to Jiim.] 

Col. There it is. [Sticlcs out tongue.] 

Lys. That isn't your pulse. 

Col. That's the way Dr. Briggs begins. 

Lys. Oh, he's an old woman. [Feels pulse, watch in hand.] 
As I expected — frequent— intermittent — inconsistent— indolent — 
eloquent! 

Col, Don't tlatte^r me. 

Lys. How old are you? 

Col, Sixty-four last birthday. 

Lys. I thought so. Had the measles? 

Col. Yes. 

Lys. I thought so. Mumps? 

Col. Never. 

Lyg. I thought not. Now I don't want to alarm you— can 
you stand a shock? [Taking him c.J 

Col. I'm a dead man. Speak out. 

Lys. Did you ever have the stethoscope applied? 



A MODERN ANANIAS. 153 

Col. Never. 

Lys. [o.J I thouglil not. Hri^^s ulvvuyK was an old woman. 
\>iouii(ls him OH. cheM iiini back, ad lib.] 

Ool. Well, is it dangerous? 

Lys. Fatal unless promptly treated. Vou have a chronic 
compHcation of epidemical sensations acting through the nervous 
tissues, associateil with the diaphanous cuticles covering the 
metempsycliosis of your periosteum. 

Col. [CioaseH I., c] Lord have mercy ! Am 1 so bad as that? 
Which is my jieriosteum? Where is it situated? 

Lys. Everywhere. 

Col. That's it. That's where it strikes me — every wliere. Is 
there no remedy? 

Lys. Out of nine patients, I've lost eight. 

('ol. I'm doomed! 

Lys, On the ninth I tried a new treatment and cured him. 

Col. Hope revives. What's the treatment? 

Lys. You'd never submit to it. 

Col, I would — I v'ilL My boy, I don't want to die for your 
sake. 

Lys. It's medicine for a horse. 

Col. Drastic? 

Lys. Number nine was sorry he didn't die. 

Col. What did you do to him? 

Lys. Like yourself, he was an old bachelor. 

Col. Poor devil! 

Lys. I married him. 

Col. Married him! 

Lys. I fi was his last chance. What is the cause of those sen- 
sations here and all down here? The nerves. When the nerves 
are out of order who can best soothe and calm them into their 
proper state of repose? A wife! What is the best medicine to 
attack them with? Cribbage! 

Col, Wonderful! I'm ol¥ for Frisco to-night! [C'/'o.s.st's r.j 

Lys. What for? 

Col. Medicine for a horse. 

Lys. Delays are dangerous. 

Col# But I don't know anybody here. 

Lys, You must be blind. Have you beheld unmoved the agi- 
tation of a fresh young heart palpitating within a yard of your 
callous bosom? A heart full of love and cribbage- I mean de 
votion ! 

Col. What! Do you mean Prudence? 

Lys. [c] Hush—brush up your hair and straighten your tie. 



64 A MODERN ANANIAS. 

[Enter B&hy door l. 2 e., in different dress. To Baby. J Come 
here my child. Now, cast your eyes down and turn your profile. 
My pet, the Bolemn moment has arrived when it becomes my duty 
to assist in establishing you in life. 

Baby. [l. c.J You said that before. 

Lys, It has arrived for the second time to-day. Turn your 
profile. This is the husband I have chosen for you. [Steppin(j 
from bettceen them.] Uncle, your cure. 

Baby. What! 

Col. [R.c] Eh? 

Lys. Tableau! 

Baby. [Aside.] Oh, papa, he's too old. 

Lys, [Aside.] Come off! He's only a little over fifty and you 
know you are considerably over — 

Baby. That'll do— I won't have him. I want my Dashwood. 

CoL [Drags Lys. aside k.[ But my boy — she's your daughter. 
How can I marry my grand-niece? I'd get arrested. 

Lys. She's only your grand-niece by marriage no kin to me 
and therefore none to you. You're (dl right, and you don't have 
to take her to the Sandwich Islands, either. 

Col. But isn't she rather 

Lys. Not at all. Why, she isn't forty-eight yet. A trifie 
passe, perhaps, for a grand-niece, but positively juvenile for a 
wife. You're nearly sixty-five— there's no disparity -and think 
of the cribbage there is in store for you. 

Col. But, Sandy— 

Lys. Think of your periosteum. 

Col. [r.c. Aside.] I stand between death and marriage. It's 
an awful predicament— -the devil on one side and the deep, deep 
sea on the other. [To'Jbyti,] Do you think she could love me? 

Lys. She could love anything. She's dead gone on you. 

Baby Stop, papa! Sir, I am much flattered by your proposal 
but our marriage is impossible. I am already engaged to a higli 
government official. [Sits l. of loble.] 

Lys. [To Col.] Leave her to me. [Crosses i.. to Bahy.] Don't 
throw away your chances. Dashwood has turned you down. 

Baby. I don't believe it. He loves me. 

Lys. Besides, he lives in Washington and you would be separ- 
ated from your doating papa. My child, my child— it would 
break my heart. [Emotionally.] 

Baby. Don't break down, pa[.a. I'll write you by every mail. 

Ly.s.' [As/rft".] What a treat! [Alun,!.] But I tell you he'ft 
gone. 

Baby. My heart tells ine he'll return. 



A MODKIIX ANANIAS. 65 

Lys. Your heart's an old twaddle and doesn't know its busi- 
ness. [Derb. dishevelled and imsteadij is led in c. bij Priid,] 

Derb. How do, Miss Gorngate—[hicJ~ah there, colonel, [To 
Lys. J I've made up my mind, don't you know. Coining down c] 

Baby. [Aside.] I knew he'd come. 

Derb. It's all right, I tell you. [Drops Jiandkerchief and al- 
leinpis during the folloicing speeches to pick it vp ^vithoul lip 
ping over.] I've made up-— excuse me, my mind. 

Lys. To refuse? 

Derb. No — to accept. [Lys. crosses r.] Who could resist her 
(hie) $250,000? [Crosses u to Baby.] Allow me to express and 
believe me sincere. [She turns her full face to }u' in.] No— it's 
worse than I thought— I can't do it- -I'll ^o out and get another 
drink. [Staggers uj) c. Prud. stops him and ihe.'/ talk in panto- 
mime.] 

Col, They've quarreled. 

Lys. She has turned him down for you. Lucky man. Just 
call her Baby and she is yours. [Crosses l. to Baby.J 

Col. What! Refused that young sprig for me? [Goes l. c] 
Oh Baby! 

Lys. [To Baby.] Now don't be a fool. It's your last chance. 
Call him Richard and he is yours. 

Baby. Richard— there's my hand. 

Col. My little Tootsy wootsey! [Conducting her c] 

Baby. My pretty Dick! [They embrace.] 

Lys. Crosses behind them to c] Touching spectacle. [Nell 
enters l. 2 door.] Bless you my children, 

Nell. Why, what's all this? 

Lys. It's all settled. 

Nell. [L.C.] What's all settled? 

Baby. [r. c] Everything, dear mama. 

Lys. [c] Baby, dear— you mustn't call her mama now. 

Nell. I should say not. 

Lys. Now see, dear, if you marry me you will be her niece, be- 
cause she is going to marry Uncle Dick. You wouldn't have her 
for a daughter, but how does she strike you as an aunt? 

Nell. [To Col.] Do you meai* to say you are going to marry 

Col. [r.J For my periosteum, dear. I've got to do it. I wish 
you'd forgive my scamp of a nephew and go and do likewise. 

Nell. For ?/i?/ ijeriosteum? 

Prud. [Coming doivn u. icith Derb. u-Jiomshe has stj-aighten- 
ed iq:).] Nellie, dear, congratulate me. 

Derb. Yes— it's catching, don't you know. 



6G A MODERN ANANIAS. 

[Enter Kitty with Frau. door l. 2 e.] 

Kitty. [Do?/*>? L. corner.] We've come to give notice, sir. 
Francisco's going to open a saloon. 

Nell. [c. in'fJi Lys..] Well, I suppose theonly thing left for me 
as a dutiful girl is to obey the commands of my guardian. 

Col. Until you get a husband to order you about. 

Lys. And she's got one under contract to be delivered f. o. b. 
this day week. 

Lysaniler. Nellie. 
Derby. Prndeiiee. 
Col. Lyon. Baby. * Francisco. Kitty. 

Curia i7i. 



A MODERN ANANIAS, 

Comedy in Three Acts 

BY 
JOHN A. FRASER, Jr. 

Four male, four ft^niale characters. Two interior, one exterior scenes. 
Movleru society cotumes. Plays two and one lialf hours. This is a scream inj? 
fiircial comedy, which depends npon t!ie wit and humor of its lines no l('s>^ 
than upitn the drollery and absurdity of its ^itnafions for tlie shrieks of laugli- 
ter it invariably provokes. Unlike most farcical comedies, "A Modern Ana- 
nias" has an ingeniously complicated jdot, which maintains a keen dramatic 
interest untill the fall of the last curtain. The scenery, if necessary, may be 
r.'ducod to a garden scene and an interior. Every character in the piece is full 
of comedy of the most humorous description, and one of them, a fat old maid, 
may be performe<l by a male somewhat aft (>r tlie fashion of "Charley's Aunt." 
The climaxes are hilariously funny, and each of the three acts is punctuated 
with laughs from beginning to end. Amateurs will find nothing more satis- 
factory in the whole range of the comic drama tlian this up-to-date comedy- 
farce by J. A. Fraser, Jr. The fullest stage directions accompany the honk, 
including all tlie "crosses" and positions, pictures, etc. Price, 25 cents. 



TWIXT LOVE AND MONEY, 

Comedy Drama in Four Acts 

BY 
JOHN A. FRASER, Jr. 

Eight male, three female characters. Plays two and one-half hours. Three 
interior scenes. Costumes of the day. This charming domestic comedy drama 
of the present day bids fair to rival, both with professionals and amateurs, the 
success of "Hazel Kirke." The scene is laid in a little village on the coast of 
Maine, and the action is replete with dramatic situations which "play them- 
selves." The story is intensely interesting and, in these days of Frenchy adai>- 
tations and "problem" plays, delightfully pure; while the moral- that love 
brings more happiness than does money— is plainly pointed without a singV 
line of preaching. No such romatic interest has been built up around a simple 
country heroines since the production of "Hazel Kirke" and "May Blossom" 
,\ears ago. The play is in four acts, and as the scenery is easy to manage it is 
particularly well adapted for the use of amateurs. There are three female 
parts, two of them comic characters, and eight males, two of whom supply the 
comedy. The dressing is all modern and the piece forms a full evening's en- 
tertainment. The author, J. A. Fraser, Jr., has been highly successful as a 
dramatist for the professional stage, having written. "The Noble Outcast" 
"Edelweiss," "The Merry Cobbler." The Train Wreckers," "A DelicHte 
Question." "A Modern Ananias." "Becky Bliss, the Circus Girl," and many 
other well-known and successful plays. "Twixt Love and Money" has beeu 
carefully revised by the author for the amateur stage. Price 2^ cents. 

The Dramatic Publishing Company, Chicago. 



THE MERRY COBBLER. 

Comedy Drama in Four Acts 

BY 
JOHN A. FRASER, Jr. 

Six male, five female characters. Two interior, two exterior scenes. Mod- 
ern costumes. Time of play, (me hour and forty-five minutes. This refined, 
yet laughter-making comedy, in which .John R. Cumpson starred successfully 
for several seasons, has been carefully revised by the author for the amateur 
stage. This romantic story of a German imigrant boy in New Orleans, who 
falls in love with, and finally marries, a ilashing Southern belle, is one of the 
cleanestand daintiest in the whole repertoire of the minor stage. In addition 
to the Merry Cobbler himself, who is one of the type the late .J. K. Emmet so 
loved to portray, there are five other male characters, five female parts and 
very short parts for two little girls. Had the piece been originally written 
for the use of amateurs, it could not have been liappier in its results, its natural 
and mirtli-provoking comedy combined with a strong undercurrent of heart- 
interest, rendering it a vehicle with which even inexperienced actors are sure 
to be seen at their best. The scenic effects are of the simplest description and 
the climaxes, while possessing the requisite amount of "thrill"' are very easy 
to handle. This piece has been seen iii all the larger cities of the Union dur- 
ing the past four seasons, and is now placed within the reach of amateurs for 
the first time. J. A. Praser, Jr.. author of " The Merry Cobbler," and a score 
of other successful plays, has prepared elaborate instructions for its production 
by amateur players. Price, 25 cents. 



A DELICATE QUESTION, 

Comedy Drama in Four Acts 

BV 
JOHN A. FRASER, Jr. 

Nine male, three female characters. One exterior, two interior scenes. 
Modern costumes. Plays two hours. If a play presenting an accurate picture 
of life in the rural districts is required, in which every character has been faith- 
fully studied from life, nothing better for the use of amateurs than "A Delicate 
Question " can be recommended. The story is utterly unlike that of any other 
play and deals with the saloon, which it handles without gloves and at the 
same time without a single line of sermonizing. What "Ten Nights in a Bar. 
room" was to the public of a past generation, "A Delicate Question" is des- 
tined to be to the present, although it is far from being exactly what is known 
as a "temperance play," The plot is intensely interesting, the pathetic scenes 
full of beauty, because they are mental photographs from nature, and the com- 
edy is simply uproariously funny. The parts, very equally balanced. The 
scenic effects are quite simple, and by a little ingenuity the entire piece may 
lie played in a kitchen scene. The climaxes are all as novel as they are effec- 
tive and the dialogue is as natural as if the characters were all real people^ 
The author, J. A. Praser. Jr., considers this one of his greatest successes. 
Price, 25 cents. 

The Dramatic Publishing Company, Chicago. 



Aroused at Last. 

CUMtUY IN ONE ACT. BY 
MARY KYLE DALLAS. 



Characters, four inaleaad four female, to say uotliiu;^ of tl :e dog. Timo of 
representation about forty minutes. One interior scene, extremely asthotic 
stylo. 

Price, - ' =■ - 15 cents. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS: 

Mr. Pondicherry presents liis wife with a diamond ring, en- 
graved with the words, "Never Once," which he explains to 
mean, that he has never had occasion to be jealous of her. Dem- 
onstrates what he would do if he were aroused. Timely entrance 
of Celeste. Arrival of Cousin Hetabel Wiggins and her brother 
Jackson from Toadlish Point. "Meestaire and Messes Vauder- 
noodle ask if you are home." "I'll stand, thanks. It winkles 
one's knees less." Jackson rescues his porkmantle. "I've got- 
most of grandpa's things; these pants was his'n." "Bow-wow 
was lost for hours, and I was utterly prostrated. His mamma 
would like to let him bite the nasty elevator boy, zere little an 
gel." Catastrophe of the lunch things. "I'm prohibition when 
I'm to hum, but this is bully cider— champagne you call it." 
"Here's to us and our folks." Hetabel on a tour of investigation 
through Mrs. P.'s secretary. "Aha! now I can show Packingham 
Pondicherry what a mistake he made when he choose Pamela 
Kidd instead of me." "What! a sea serpent in my l>osom!" 
"Speak, woman, speak." "Avaunt." "I hold the proof of your 
duplicity in my hands." P. aroused at last. Vandernoodle's 
awful peril. Timely interference of Celeste. "Written by a driv- 
eling idiot." "Of all brazen critters." "Bring me my Bow-wow, 
he's all I have to love me now." "Mr. Pondicherry, have you lost 
all memory of your own love-letters?" "Good Heavens! What 
an idiot I have made of myself." "Open another bottle of cider." 
Miss Hetabal and her brother shown the door. Happy reconcili- 
ation all around. 



A Pair of Artists. 

AN ORIGINAL COMEDY IN THREE ACTS, BY 

EFFIE W. MERRIMAN. 

Characters, foar male, tliree female. Time, one )ioar and three-fourths. 
Price, - =" =■ - 15 cents. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS. 

A.CT I. Scene i. Irving Richmond's apartments. Irving con- 
fesses to his old college chum that he is in love. Charles 
very much against marriage sympathizes deeply in his afflic- 
tion. The poor artist's scheme. 

Scene ii. Scott farmhouse. Uncle Tom and Gertie teach- 
ing each other to waltz. Aunt Kate mends chair, meanwhile 
delivering lecture on "Woman Suffrage." Lillian's letter to 
Irving intercepted by Aunt Kate and sent to Papa. Irving 
upon the scene in guise of farm-hand. Caught love-making 
by Willie. 

ACT II. Scene, sitting-room Scott farmhouse. A summer 
boarder (Charlie); also a poor artist. Charlie shells peas. 
Gertie's suspicions that Charlie is Irving. Charlie led lively 
dance by Gertie. Gertie's portrait pamted by Charlie a sad 
failure. Examination of Willie's mental condition unsatis- 
factory. Johnny-jump-up determines to become a pansy. 
Gertie's revenge on Charlie. Charlie argues with Aunt Kate 
and gets himself into trouble. Willie's astounding revela- 
tion at the supper table. Confusion ! 

ACT III. Scene, same as for Act 11. Charlie as a moral teacher 
to the young not a success. Another discovery by Willie. 
Aunt Kate writes to Papa. Charlie and Willie take a trip to 
the city. Elopement of Lillian and Irving. Uncle Tom tells 
Gertie a story. "I ain't crying, Uncle Tom,-I-I peeled 
onions for dinner yesterday— Oh ! I wish I could die." Char- 
lie back disguised as Lillian's papa. Gertie's involuntary 
confession. Uncle Tom discovers that Charlie is the eon of 
an old friend. Charlie's opinions regarding marriage greatly 
changed. Mr. S. takes a new stand. "It means, madam, thai 
hereafter I am master in my own house." Willie and Irving 
and Lillian back again. Everybody happy. 



THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY S CATALOGUE 



CHILDREN'S PLAYS 



The object of publishing these little plays is to provide a series that require 
one scene only in each piece and which will occupy about 15 to 25 minutes in per- 
formance. They can all be thoroughly recommended as the simplest plays for 
children ever published. Price, 15 cents each. 

The Fairy Blossom. 3 males, 3 females. Scene, a King's Cham 
ber. The Fairy Blossom belonging to the queen has been stolen 
and the king vows he will severely punish the thief. Carlo is 
accused, but his betrothed wife Lena will not allow him to be sacri- 
ficed, as she plucked the flower to comfort her sick sister. The 
king, who had complained about having nothing to do, then learns 
that his alms have not been properly distributed among the ipoov in 
a proper manner and resolves to look after them himself. 

A Home Fairy. 2 males, 2 females. Scene, a Parlor. Bertie Eger- 
ton and his wife are very poor and cannot get work. Their little 
daughter Lily is desirous of doing something to help them. The 
proprietor of a theatre, Cecil Vane, arrives and offers to make Lily 
a fairy in the pantomime, to fill the place of one who is ill. Lily's 
mother happens to be Vane's long lost daughter and they are happily 
re-united 

A King in Disguise. 5 males, i female. Scene, a Cottage Room. 
This is the story of King Alfred and the cakes, his sojourn at the 
neat-herd's cottage, wh'^.re news is brought to him of the overthrow 
of the Danes. 

The Lady Cecil, i male, 4 females. Scene, a Room. A nurse 
brings her own child up as :he Lady Cecil, the real Lady Cecil being 
lost when an infant. They have a handmaid, Clare, to whom the 
nurse is cruel, but she is beloved by Cecil. A fairy appears and 
pronounces Clare to be the child that was lost. Lord Hilary has 
courted Lady Cecil, but vows the change will not make any differ- 
ence ill his affections. 

The Little Folks' Work. 2 males, 3 females. Scene, a Kitchen* 
Three little children resolve to hel{) their father and mother in 
household duties; they make terrible mistakes, but their parents are 
satisfied with their goodwill and loving help. 



THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY'S CATALOGUE 

The Magician and the Ring. 3 males, 2 females. Scene, a Room 
The Lady Trevor has lost a v^aluable ring. She seeks the aid of a 
magician to find it. He discovers that the servants have taken it 
and he is enabled to restore it. 

A Midsummer Frolic. 2 males, 2 females. Scene, a Wood. Ptg^cy 
believes in fairies. His companions play a trick upon him, dress- 
ing up and making him think he is on enchanted ground. 

Prince or Peasant. 2 males, 2 females. Scene, a Road. Prince 
Claud has been betrothed in infancy to Princess Brenda, but the 
Prince, tired of Court ceremonies, disguises as a peasant in order to 
seek someone of sterling worth in humble life. The Princess does 
the same, they meet and exchange rings and afterward in their 
Court attire they recognize in each other the peasant they have 
already encountered and fallen in love with. 

Princess Marguerite's Choice. 5 males, 3 females. Scene, a Room. 
The Princess Marguerite is visited by various knights to solicit her 
hand in marriage. They offer her wealth, power and valor, but 
her choice rests upon Sir Innocent, who can offer her nothing but 
a spotless name and a loving heart. 

Snowwhite. 4 males 2 females. Scene, a Room. The queen is 
jealous of Snovvwhite's beauty and instructs a servant to take her 
into a wood and slay her. The servant pretends this has been done 
and Snowwhite falls into the hands of the dwarfs. The queen's 
magic glass telling her that Snowwhite still lives, she dresses in dis- 
guise, and twice attempts to poison her step-daughter. Her plans 
are frustrated, she repents and Snowwhite is united to Prince Flor- 
imel. 

The Sleepers Awakened. 3 males, 3 females. Scene, a Room. 
Abou Hassan, the Sultan's favorite, and his wife, Nouzhatoul, are 
hard up. In order to obtain money he tells the Sultan that his wife 
is dead, while Nouzhatoul tells Zobeide, the Sultan's wife, that her 
husband is dead. The Sultan and his wife quarrel as to which is 
deceased and come to find out, whereupon Abou and Nouzhatoul 
both pretend to be lifeless. The Sultan offering a thousand gold 
pieces to know which died first, Abou jumps up and claims that he 
did. The Sultan is so pleased with their joke that he forgives 
them. 

The Three Fairy Gifts. 2 males, 6 females, Scene, a Wood. A 
fairy queen grants a gift to the three maidens, Cynthia, Violet and 
Vera. The first chooses wealth, the second beauty, while V'era desires 
the power to make others happy. Cynthia and Violet are led into 
trouble by their gifts and beseech the fairy to take them away, but 
Vera is the means of teaching them how they should profit by their 
good fortune. 

The Two Sisters. A bright little children's play in one act for 4 
female characters. 



THE DEESTRICK SKULE 

— OF— 

FIFTY YEARS AGO 

"The Deestrick Skule" has been given in scores of towns, and 
everywhere with success. The manual gives full instructions for get- 
ting up the "Deestrick Skule." It contains the questions and answers 
for the various classes, hints on costume, several "Compositions and 
"pieces" for the latter part of the entertainment, a parting poetical 
"Tribe-ute," from the "Maw" of two pairs of twins, and the speech of 
the "Head Committee Man." 

"One of the best entertainments of the kind it has been my 
pleasure to attend— Florence Lee in Good Housekeeping. 

Sent postpaid on receipt of price, 5o cents. 



BY EFFIE W. MERRIMAN. 

"With a view to providing societies or clubs devices both tor enter- 
tainment and for making money for worthy objects, Etfie W. Merri- 
man, a well known writer of children's books, has completed a collec- 
tion of schemes for socials, which meet a long felt want. A church 
needs furnishing, a poor family needs assistance, a new organ is want- 
ed, a school library is to be started, a hospital calls for assistance and 
the question arises what can be got up that will be new and enter- 
taining. To reply to this the suggestions in this book are made. Many 
of them possess novel features and while simple would be apt to pro- 
vide plenty of amusement as well as money. — Hartford Post. 

"This little book supplies a long felt want on the part of societies, 
clubs, benevolent associations and other organizations for novelties 
and entertamments. 

"More than a score of amusing socials and other entertainments 
are described in such plain and concise terms that no one of average 
ability could be other than successsful in their management." — Chicago 
Globe. 

Sent postpaid on receipt of price, 50 cents. 

The Dramatic Publishing Company. 

CHICAGO. 



LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 




018 597 249 5 



PLAYS 



Wl^ keep in stock one of the largest and 
^ ^ best assorted lines of plays to be 
found in the country. 

We can furnish any play published. 
Individuals and societies interested in 
this class of publications should first 
examine our lists before ordering else- 
where. 

Full descriptive catalogue, giving 
titles, number of characters, time required 
for production, etc., will be sent free on 
application. 

The Dramatic Publishing Company, 
3s8 Dearborn Street, 

CHICAGO. 



10 i 



/^ft 



vSu,!^^.^. ^^ CONGRESS 



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018 597 249 5 



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